


A Thousand Lies and a Good Disguise

by aceofjapan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (not really royalty just nobility tbh), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Badass Katsuki Yuuri, Banter, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't copy to another site, Embedded Images, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Gift Exchange, Hair-pulling, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Nobleman Victor Nikiforov, Sexual Tension, Thief Katsuki Yuuri, Top Katsuki Yuuri, YOI Secret Skater 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofjapan/pseuds/aceofjapan
Summary: Victor didn't think anything of it when some of his jewellery went missing, at first.He'd been too distracted by the gorgeous man who kept turning up at balls to dance with him and then disappear without even giving his name.Yuuri didn't really care about Victor Nikiforov at all. He loved him only for his diamonds. Well--and his gold, his sapphires, and his pearls. But that was it. That was the only reason he kept coming back to dance with him one more time.
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 56
Kudos: 202
Collections: Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Skater 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karasunotsubasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunotsubasa/gifts).



> Happy holidays, [karasunotsubasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunotsubasa/pseuds/karasunotsubasa)!
> 
> I created this little gem for you, trying to incorporate a few of the ideas you gave me. I really hope you'll like it! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I got to try my hand at a lot of new things that I've never really done before. 
> 
> This story is completely finished and divided into three parts that will be posted in quick succession, so look out for part 2 in a couple of days. In the meantime, enjoy!  
> All political and geographical references in this story are completely made up, I just borrowed some names from our world.
> 
> Many many thanks to my amazing betas [Rae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zuzuhi) and [Hufflehobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hufflehobbit_writes), you've been actual treasures! Also to [Riki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riki/pseuds/Riki) for being my sounding board and overall cheerleader, and to [IA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncandescentAntelope) and [Tess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said) for reassuring me about my very first smut!
> 
> Now, without further ado, let's dive in!

**I.**

The first time it happened, Victor didn‘t think anything of it. It was late at night when he returned to his suite of rooms, tiredness weighing heavily on his limbs and his feet aching, but excitement bubbling in his chest.

He took off his makeup while his attendant painstakingly removed all the pins and clips holding his elaborate hairstyle in place. Victor hummed softly to himself the entire time, a dopey smile on his lips that he was too intoxicated to mind. 

Only when his attendant had finished brushing out his hair did he get up from his vanity to start the lengthy process of removing his shimmering floor-length gown, a long curtain of shining silver hair now draped over his shoulders. The fabric was loose and flowing but clung to his figure in a way that was tantalisingly revealing and concealing at the same time. The layers of silk and sheer muslin in shades of pink and purple had shimmering gold woven through the fabric, and were held together at his back by an intricate web of hooks and buttons that was impossible to undo alone. He collected his hair in one hand, pulling it over one shoulder to be out of the way of his attendant, tilting his head down to give them unhindered access to the fastenings close to his neck.

It was then that Victor realised that the delicate floral pattern embroidered along the neckline of the gown in glittering diamonds of various sizes was sporting a few sizeable holes.

He sighed, running a thumb over the slight indents in the fabric where the precious stones had once sat, the pattern now conspicuously incomplete.

“I‘m going to have to talk to Madam Lilia about this”, he murmured, more to himself than anything.

“Your Serenity?”, his attendant piped up from behind him, still working to get him out of the restrictive bindings.

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “I‘m used to better quality work than this from Madam Lilia. I‘m afraid the dress has lost a few stones already. Maybe she‘s let that irate intern of hers do the embroidery work this time, what do you think?”

“I wouldn’t know, Your Serenity”, they said, stepping around him to take a closer look at the disrupted pattern, tracing their fingers along the swirling curls of diamonds. “But I can talk to her about it, or have the gown taken back if you wish.”

“Hmm, Lilia is not going to be happy about that”, Victor said, combing his hands absently through his hair as his attendant returned to their task. “And with good reason, her work is usually impeccable.”

It was only a few moments more until Victor was finally freed, slipping the flowing fabric over his hips and down his legs, handing it to the attendant to be hung up. 

“That‘ll be all for tonight, Alexis, thank you so much”, he said with a grateful smile. “I apologise for keeping you up so long. Hurry along now and get your rest. I will be dressing myself tomorrow morning, so I won‘t require your help until the lunch meeting with the ambassador.”

Alexis gave a quick bow, the gown draped over their arm. “It was no trouble, Your Serenity. I‘m glad you had a pleasant evening.”

“Very pleasant”, Victor confirmed, feeling that goofy grin creep back on his face. “Good night, Alexis.”

“Good night, Your Serenity.”

And just like that, as the gown disappeared from his room along with Alexis, so did the matter of the missing diamonds. He didn‘t pay them a second thought as he dimmed the lights and slipped into the comfortable warmth of bed in his underwear. No, his thoughts were quite occupied with other things, images of dark eyes sparkling with mirth, steady hands on his hips, his shoulder, the ghost of a low, musical voice whispering close to his ears.

It had been a long time since he left any of these official balls with any feeling of lightness around him; a long time since the tedious conversation, the constant scheming and political gossip-mongering, the inevitable hopefuls trying to kiss up to him hadn‘t weighed like lead on his shoulders by the time he finally returned to the privacy of his own rooms. Not this time. No, this time he fell asleep with a smile on his lips and a low but steady hum of excitement vibrating somewhere near his spine that didn‘t quite fade away even as the weeks passed.

**II.**

The second time something went missing was equally unremarkable to him. 

It had been yet another tedious, uptight ball with representatives of the nobility, political officials and influential socialites, more inane conversation and casually classist remarks that made Victor feel vaguely nauseous. 

But in the midst of it all had been one dance, one brilliant, dizzying dance in those arms that twirled and dipped him with confidence and easy grace. One dance under the watchful gaze of those intense brown eyes, one dance with easygoing flirtation whispered into his ear that made him shiver.

One dance that had made the whole night worth it, no matter that it had passed quickly—too quickly—his partner had disappeared again in the press of bodies around them in the hall. 

So it was no wonder, really, that Victor had other things to occupy his mind when he was undressing that night in his rooms, carefully removing his jewellery: earrings, a beautiful waterfall of strings of gold and pearl in various lengths. They had been a beautiful complement to the dark suit with gold buttons and accents that he had been wearing, a half-skirt intricately embroidered with gold thread flowing downwards from his hips to trail on the floor.

As he laid out the earrings on his vanity to be put away in his jewellery case later, their mismatched appearance caught his eye —and indeed, when he took a closer look at them, he realised that several of the longer strands of pearls dangling on thin gold chain were missing from one of the earrings. He ran his fingers thoughtfully through the fall of pearls. Perhaps they had gotten entangled in his hair or caught on his clothes, being long enough to rest on his shoulders when he tilted his head. He combed carefully through his hair and checked the folds and creases of his suit, but the pearls were nowhere to be found.

He sighed—it was disappointing to see such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship ruined, but it couldn't be helped. Sometimes things like that happened. Perhaps he could find a jeweller able to even them out, or salvage the pearls and gold for a different piece.

As he moved on to undo the buttons on his waistcoat, he couldn't help but feel the ghost of a soft but steady touch on his waist through the fabric, the warmth of a body pressed close to his, and he shuddered, a little spike of heat flowing through him. 

And so he put it out of his mind once more, earrings shining subdued and forgotten in the low light on the vanity as Victor hurriedly shrugged out of the rest of his restrictive clothes. His fingers were already shaking in anticipation as they strayed lower down his body, a memory tingling throughout this body, of murmured praise fanning hot against his skin, and slender fingers carding gently through his hair.

**III.**

Yuuri let the string of pearls run gently through his fingers, grazing his thumb lightly over the flawless iridescent surface of one of them. He tilted his head, contemplating the sheen of the pearls in the impersonal glaring light of his hotel room.

It had almost been too easy. Not that weeks of planning hadn’t gone into this night—he’d done meticulous research on the attendants of the ball and the venue, and with some extraordinary difficulty Phichit had even procured an invitation for him so that he hadn’t even had to sneak or charm his way inside. He’d been impeccably dressed in a form-fitted dark blue suit with silver embroidery on the lapels and curling around one shoulder so as to fit into the sparkling variety of high class suits, gowns and everything in between at the ball, and had an easy lie always on his tongue about who he was and what brought him here. 

Once he was inside, however, the entire carefully laid plan nearly toppled out of the window when he saw that Victor Nikiforov was in attendance. 

Not only had Nikiforov not been part of any of his carefully procured intel, he was also known as the most fashionable, and therefore the most extravagant, member of Europe’s noble circles. His presence alone would have upped the net worth of all the valuables and jewellery in the room combined by a considerable margin. Or so Yuuri had thought when he’d first heard whisper of Nikiforov’s attendance, abandoning his dance partner as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion, in order to scope out what opportunities Nikiforov’s presence might bring. 

Yuuri didn’t usually approach targets that he hadn’t previously done extensive recon on—presence and competence of bodyguards, personal preferences and weak spots, worth, location and insurance of the targeted valuables—he didn’t have any of those prepared for Nikiforov today. Well, with the exception of the personal preferences and weak spots, that is, assuming they hadn’t changed within the last few weeks. After all, he’d had ample opportunity to scope those out at that function in Budapest a little over a month ago. 

But despite his lack of intel, Yuuri’s couldn’t quite keep himself from at least trying to catch a glimpse of Nikiforov. He and his family had a few heirloom pieces that Nikiforov would on occasion present to the public, and an opportunity such as that was not to be missed.

Yuuri was disappointed though, when he spotted the nobleman. Not disappointed by the sight of him, of course—a creature as polished and poised as Victor Nikiforov could never disappoint in that regard. That first time Yuuri had stood before him a few weeks ago, he had very nearly slipped out of his carefully crafted persona for the night and let himself be _flustered_ by how beautiful he was up close; by that disarming smile and the intensity of those blue eyes. It had been distracting, to say the least, as Yuuri had asked him to dance and twirled him around the dance floor. But he had still gotten home that night with a good number of diamonds stashed safely in a small, hidden pouch in the sleeve of his suit jacket. 

No, Nikiforov’s appearance had not been disappointing then, and it wasn’t now—he looked a vision in his perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit, the half skirt glittering with gold thread trailing behind him with every step, catching the eyes of everyone around him, drawing their gazes toward his narrow hips and his even narrower waist. The crisp white collar of his shirt sat snug against his throat, held fast with a cravat that matched the skirt in its pattern. It was that shirt and its collar closed high around Nikiforov’s throat that disappointed Yuuri. It meant no diamond collar, no elaborate jewelled necklace or choker. In fact, the whole outfit was unusually devoid of accessories, just the crisp clean lines of fabric and the glittering embroidery woven throughout enough of an ornamentation. For a moment it made Yuuri’s heart sit in his throat with the worry that Nikiforov had been spooked by the loss of his diamonds the last time, and had therefore chosen to forego his expensive jewellery for the future. Just a moment, though, and then Yuuri saw the earrings. Those beautiful earrings, waterfalls of gold and pearl, twinkling in between the long flowing strands of his hair.

Yuuri twirled the thread of pearls through his fingers with a quick flick of his wrist, a smirk curling onto his lips. It had been so easy once he’d approached Nikiforov. For some inexplicable reason Nikiforov had been like wax in his hands, so pliable, just as he had been that first time. The way his eyes had fluttered shut at once when Yuuri had threaded his fingers through the soft strands of his hair had made it nothing of a challenge at all to nick the delicate gold chain on some of the clusters of pearls and slip them into the hollow of his palm, to be dropped from there once again into the pouch in his sleeve. 

It had almost been a let down with how easy it had been—Yuuri had expected it to be a true challenge to steal from the famed Victor Nikiforov, one of the proudest and most influential figures in the societal circles of Europe, known for his sharp wit in addition to his beauty and his impeccable sense of style. And yet, where had all of that pride and sharpness been when he had turned to putty in Yuuri’s hands? Yuuri smiled a wry smile to himself at the thought—the most challenging thing that evening had been to not be swayed by Nikiforov’s voice whispering close to Yuuri’s ear when their dance ended. 

“I had been hoping I’d see you again”, he’d said, “You were gone so quickly last time, I didn’t even get your name.”

Yuuri had to bow low over Nikiforov’s hand to avoid the temptation of answering, his lips, stretched into a smile that he couldn’t quite suppress, hovering just over Nikiforov’s knuckles.

“It has been a pleasure and a privilege once again, Your Serenity”, he’d murmured, straightening up, before he’d used the commotion of a new dance starting around them as an opportunity to get lost in the crowd.

He’d hung around a little after that—mostly watching the goings on from a gallery overlooking the dance floor, occupied in large part by couples looking to fade into the background and bachelors unwilling to dance. He’d kept an eye on Victor—studying his habits and mannerisms and keeping a look out for his bodyguards, he told himself—as well as on the other targets he’d scoped out in advance, alleviating some of them of the heavy burdens of their valuables before he finally slipped out of the hall unnoticed. 

A gentleman, after all, always knew when it was time to take his leave.

Never mind that Yuuri was about as far from a gentleman as you could be.

So now there was a small pile of treasure heaped on the side table in his hotel room, just waiting for him to sell, pawn, trade, melt down or, in some cases, actually use. After all, there were a few pieces among them common enough that they would be inconspicuous appearing on his wrist or his lapel during the next event, and a man trying to gain access to the most exclusive events catering to the noble and the rich needed to look the part.

The other pieces however, the ones that were unique, or close to it, he would need to get rid of, and soon. After a few hours of sleep he would leave this place behind at the crack of dawn, before most of the attendees of that party had even found their way home, and make his way back to his rendezvous point with Phichit. Phichit always had the right contacts at hand to take these newfound treasures off their hands, and they would find themselves with another good chunk of cash waiting for them to invest. 

In the meantime he already had set his sights on the next event: a lavish coming of age celebration for more noble offspring in Florence at the end of the month. It was already promising to be very lucrative—and hopefully a little more challenging this time. 

Yuuri finally forced himself to let go of the string of pearls, setting them down on the table with the rest of his loot while he retrieved a nondescript pouch of black velvet from his bag to store all of his treasure in. There was a safe in the room, built into the bedside table, but experience taught him that should the need for a quick getaway arise, time would be of the essence. And opening a safe could cost precious seconds,so he stowed the pouch underneath his pillow instead, before packing up the last of his belongings and wiping down all the surfaces he had touched with his bare hands. Only then did he slide between the sheets of the bed, a couple of alarms set on his phone although he rarely needed them. 

He released a deep breath, some of the day’s tension seeping out of him as he relaxed into the pillows. He only had a few precious hours in which he could be himself, before he needed to be Eros again, always alert, always paying attention to the smallest details, always with three contingency plans running concurrently in his head. A few precious hours of being just Yuuri, and he wouldn’t be Yuuri if he didn’t spend those hours sleeping.

He reached out with his arm and flicked the switch on the bedside lamp with his elbow. “Fuck the rich”, he murmured into the darkness, and fell asleep with the image of Victor Nikiforov’s beaming smile flashing bright behind his eyes.

**IV.**

Victor now approached all of his familial responsibilities with an enthusiasm that had become completely foreign to him. 

Well—not all of them. Only the ones that took the form of any kind of party, ball, fundraiser, dinner party, or any other such evening activity involving dance, drink, and general merriment. 

Each one of these events he looked forward to with fluttering anticipation, expressing itself in particular care taken in his choice of outfit and accessories, a restlessness even greater than usual, and an exceptional interest in the event‘s guest list.

He had yet to figure out what the name of his mystery dance partner was, or what kind of function or association brought him to the events, but each time he scanned the list of attendants (if he could get his hands on it) eagerly, as though the second his eyes found the right name it would all fall into place and he would somehow _know_.

Of course, that didn't happen, but then it seemed like the correct name wasn’t on any of the lists Victor read, because for a few agonising weeks, the Ghost (as Victor had taken to calling him in his head, because Cinderella wasn‘t very pithy and maybe a little melodramatic even for his standards) did not make another appearance.

Victor’s eager anticipation was disappointed time and again when another night passed without a glimpse of that graceful figure, that soft-looking dark hair. Victor had already begun to fear that he would never appear again, that he maybe had never existed in the first place, just a vision borne of Victor‘s boredom. But then what kind of vision appeared exactly twice, and then never again? Wouldn‘t it have been once, or at least thrice or some other poetically or mythologically significant number? Or maybe it really was a Cinderella-type situation, and he was expected to chase after him? But then, he hadn't left behind a calling card of any kind by which to chase him, not a hint or a name, let alone a shoe (oh, and how Victor would have loved to have one of those beautiful, well-worn but impeccably polished black Italian Derbys to remember him by…). He didn't even have a discernible accent that Victor could have used to infer his nationality. His English wasn't flawless, but the accent was faint enough to not be immediately placeable, especially not from the few hushed words they had exchanged while dancing.

Weeks passed him by without any trace of the Ghost; even Christophe, who Victor had told all about his mysterious vision the first chance he got, hadn't been able to help Victor identify him. And Christophe was usually to be relied on in these things. No one was as well-versed in the gossip and rumour of high society. Plus, a beautiful man never failed to catch Christophe‘s notice; but then, he had not been in personal attendance of any of the two events where Victor had been visited by the Ghost. 

So, apart from whisperings about an animosity of some kind kicking up between the Czech and Italian noble houses, a tale of some heirloom or other being misplaced among the Spanish royalty, and a few new unflattering stories told by the servants of the Leroy house, Christophe had nothing of interest to report to him.

Victor was not ready to give up hope, however. After all, it had only been a few weeks. He trusted that his Ghost would find him again. One of these days he would appear at one of the events just as unexpectedly as the first two times, and sweep him off his feet again. He almost appreciated the anticipation—the surprise of it, not knowing when it would happen next, made it all the more thrilling.

And it made sense, too, he supposed. After all, these were all very exclusive events, for the very elite of society, and not everyone has such a singular position that they could expect an invitation or admission to all of these events, such as Victor could. He was a Nikiforov. The Nikiforovs were invited, and even if they weren't, no one would dare turn them away at the door should they decide to turn up anyway. And the Ghost—his manner had been gentlemanly enough, and his dress impeccable, but it had not been in the very latest fashions, not the most expensive materials and brands. Victor had a very good eye for this kind of thing, and he could tell at a glance—the Ghost was respectable, but probably not nobility, or if so then only in the lowest ranks. He was clearly wealthy, but not overwhelmingly rich. 

None of that mattered to Victor, of course—none of it detracted from his beauty—but for someone of his position it would not be a matter of course to attend the kind of functions that filled Victor‘s evenings almost every week.

Therefore he was surprised when the next event at which he encountered his Ghost was the party in honour of the Crispino twins being presented to society. Having reached the age of maturity in the winter, this was their first summer fully out in society, fully part of the most influential circles of nobility and politics. And their parents, the Duke and Duchess Crispino of Florence, had not spared a single expense in providing their heirs with an introduction to society as grand and extravagant as befit their station.

The event was held in the Crispino‘s residence on the outskirts of Florence: a tasteful mansion in the old Tuscan style, brilliantly illuminated by a small armada of glimmering torches which dotted the extensive gardens sprawled around the building. Inside, polished marble reflected brilliant chandeliers, competing with the splendour of the guests‘ elaborate fashions for attention.

It was an event both larger and more exclusive than most that Victor had attended in the last weeks—while there were many more people in attendance, the scope of those invited reached far beyond the circles of European nobility. The Leroys were in attendance, as well as the de la Iglesias, House Ji, and even an envoy from the Lee family had found their way from the other side of the continent. So this was the one event he had not expected to see his Ghost again—which isn’t to say that he hadn‘t hoped for it. 

It was already well into the evening and Victor had indulged in a few drinks with Christophe, glad at having at least one friendly face at the event that he could talk to without having to put on airs. They‘d mostly strolled through the gardens or looked out over the main hall from the gallery, trying to escape the worst of the crowds. Their conversation had been easy, if mostly superficial, and Victor had enjoyed himself. He had to admit that he hadn‘t even thought about his Ghost all that much, except for the few occasions when they were gazing down at the mass of guests from the galleries and his eyes couldn‘t help but scour the room for that familiar head of black hair.

But then Chris spotted among the late arrivals his very own Ghost, so to speak, Monsieur Matthieu of Nice—one of the few men who had been able to hold Chris‘ usually so fleeting attention for any amount of time. And so Victor had been abandoned left behind with no other choice than to let his thoughts drift back to the Ghost. He‘d spent some time on the dance floor, lent his hand in the odd dance to one person or another, hoping against hope while the evening dragged on. Eventually, his energy depleted, he‘d retreated into a shadowy corner with another drink, and found a comfortable seat in an overstuffed chair in a nook between the ballroom and the conservatory. He let the sound of music and the distant murmur and laughter of the crowd wash over him. Maybe he had let his eyes slide shut just for a moment—the night was late and his feet hurt and Chris was quite the avid drinking companion—but they flew open when he heard a soft, melodious voice float toward him over the muddled mass of noises from the hall.

“Good evening, Your Serenity.”

There he stood—Victor recognised him at once, even with the backlight of the hall casting him into shadows—the easy grace of his figure, his narrow frame and those eyes, somehow only gaining in intensity, drenched in shadows as they were; he was quite unmistakable. Victor blinked at him, once, twice, unsure if he was dreaming.

The Ghost took a few steps toward him, tilting his head with a smile that was a little too teasing to be genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry for disturbing your rest, Your Serenity, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to leave without at least saying hello.”

Startled out of his paralysis, Victor jumped to his feet. “No apology necessary”, he assured him hurriedly, “I am quite glad that you did. I would have been sorry to have missed you.”

The Ghost leaned forward a little, bowing his head in a way that was not quite low enough to be deferential. Victor followed his movements, wondering if it was his lack of knowledge of proper etiquette that led to this lapse in his manners, or if it was an indication of his own status being not quite so far below Victor’s as he thought. Or maybe it was simply an expression of the familiarity he was hoping to establish between them. Victor didn’t mind it either way, but any little detail might help in finding out the identity of the man.

“I must admit”, Victor said, when the man didn’t make to speak again, “I’d been hoping to see you again.”

The man laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that made Victor shiver. “I feel quite honoured that you enjoyed my company so, Your Serenity.”

Victor took another step closer. Now that the Ghost wasn’t backlit by the glaring lights anymore, Victor’s eyes, used to the dimness in the nook, could discern more of him. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit cut perfectly to accentuate his narrow waist and long legs. His jacket was embroidered with glittering stones in an asymmetrical pattern, cascading down from his shoulder to his chest on one side, and from his waist to his hips on the other—not diamonds, Victor thought, judging by the way they reflected the light; Swarovski crystals, possibly. Along his hips a half skirt was draped, much shorter than the one on Victor’s own suit had been the last time, ending right around the middle of his thighs. Whenever he moved, Victor could see a tantalising little flutter of bright red on the inside of the skirt.

Victor forced himself to breathe.

“Won’t you call me Victor?”, he asked, a little waver in his voice that he wasn’t quite capable of hiding. 

The Ghost blinked at him thoughtfully.

“If you so wish.”

He made it sound like he was doing Victor a favour by agreeing to call him by his name, rather than Victor bestowing the honour of familiarity upon him, and it made a little thrill of excitement run down his spine. When was the last time someone had paid so little attention to the protocol of his station? Had there ever been such a time before in his life? He couldn’t recall a single instance.

“Hmm”, Victor hummed with a smile of his own, “this is usually the part where people would tell me a name of their own I can call them by.”

“Ah”, the Ghost said, a quirk turning the corner of his lips, “but wouldn‘t that take all the fun out of it? Even if I only gave you a first name, in no time flat you would have found out all about me—my position, my family, the exact state of my wealth… even my interests, my likes and dislikes…”, he took another step closer, to close the distance between them. “And where would be the fun in that? Where is the mystery? Wouldn‘t you rather find out all of those things from me personally?”

Victor tried to concentrate on keeping his breathing regular, even as he could detect the Ghosts faint scent wafting over the short distance between them, cologne and hair wax and clean fabric.

“But wouldn‘t that put me at quite the disadvantage?”, he asked, “Seeing as you seem to know plenty about me already.”

“There‘s always more to learn, don‘t you think?”

“You make a compelling argument”, Victor said weakly, trying not to lose his train of thought when faced with those intense brown eyes, “but also I can‘t very well keep calling you _The Ghost_ in my mind.”

The words slipped out before Victor could hold them back, and he almost wanted to roll his eyes at himself. The Ghost stared at him for a solid second, eyebrows raised in surprise, and then he burst out laughing.

All at once, his face lost all of that smouldering seriousness, the teasing intensity, and instead, his eyes narrowed in genuine mirth as a bubbling laugh tumbled out of him that made him sound so much younger all of a sudden. 

No, Victor thought, this was definitely not a dream. There was no way his brain could come up with something as wonderful as this.

“The Ghost? Really?”, he asked, when his laughter had subsided a little, a teasing lilt still evident in his voice.

Victor grimaced and pulled up his shoulders. “I had to call you something. And since I didn‘t have your actual name…”

“...the Ghost seemed like the most logical alternative?” He grinned when Victor just shrugged. “Alright. How about you call me Yorei?”

“Yorei?”, Victor repeated, and the Ghost nodded. “And don‘t bother looking it up—it‘s not my actual name.”

“Fine”, Victor said with a deep sigh as if giving in to his fate. The tense anticipation between them, the feeling like there was something about to catch fire, had dissipated with Yorei‘s laughter, but Victor didn‘t really mind it—it had left behind something more comfortable, something easier.

He reached out his hand. “Yorei, then”, he said, “Will you dance with me?”

Yorei smiled as he took Victor‘s hand.

“It would be my pleasure.”

* * *

Victor pulled him into the ballroom eagerly. Though the night was already winding down, some of the less enduring guests already having taken their leave, there were still a good number of couples on the dance floor. Most of them were only swaying in place by now, wrapped up close in each other, regardless of the pace of the music. 

Yuuri let Victor drag him to the centre of the dance floor, weaving through the couples, and Yuuri could see him exchanging a significant glance with Sir Christophe over the shoulder of his dance partner. 

Yuuri had kept an eye on Victor throughout the night, but hadn‘t dared approach him as long as he was with anyone—it was much easier for him to work one on one. An extra pair of eyes brought too much risk with it. It was lucky for him that Sir Christophe had finally taken his leave to go dance with the man Yuuri assumed was his beau. 

But judging by the look Victor and Christophe shared however, he must have told Christophe about him. Yuuri wasn‘t sure what to think about that. There didn‘t seem to be any suspicion or alarm in that shared glance, just something that Yuuri interpreted to be glee, and maybe a spark of appreciation.

When they reached an open space on the dance floor, Victor turned and pulled Yuuri close to him, still holding fast to his hand, and the next moment they were moving, turning and turning, spinning with the music. They twirled their way through a Viennese Waltz, and this time Victor wouldn‘t let go of him when the song ended. Instead he raised a questioning eyebrow at Yuuri, and Yuuri gave him a smile, while moving into the steps of the next song, a Bolero. He didn‘t mind it—right now he was pretty sure that they were still being watched by the curious eyes of Sir Christophe anyway. Yuuri would have to bide his time, and wait for his attention to fade if he wanted to make his move. 

He let Victor lead him easily over the dance floor, his experience and training from a young age showing in the confidence of his movements, his sure steps. It had been a long time since Yuuri had been able to dance with such a skilled partner. Most of the time when he danced for his work he had to tone down his skills—especially when he danced with male targets, in particular those who insisted on leading him; they often didn‘t like to feel upstaged by their partner. But dancing with Victor—well, it was fun. Yuuri could admit that much. He still took care not to show off—tempting though it was with a partner who he knew would be able to handle it—but he was meant to be keeping a low profile, and dancing with Victor would draw enough attention to him as it was, even if he didn‘t show himself to be an unusually skilled dancer in front of the crowd. 

They made their way through a few more songs, and once they had found their rhythm and Victor wasn‘t quite so breathless anymore, he took Yuuri up on the promise of learning more about him and started asking him questions that Yuuri attempted to answer with an appropriate balance of deflection and apparent honesty. 

Did he dance a lot? Not a lot, but he did enjoy it when he got the chance to do it. Had he come here with his family? Business associates? No, he was usually on his own at these events. What was his connection to the Crispinos? He didn‘t actually know them personally, a good friend had gotten him the opportunity to attend this event.

When Victor‘s questions came a little too close for comfort, Yuuri just took the lead from him. A tango was just beginning, and he took the opportunity to press Victor a little closer, effectively shutting him up. Victor blinked at him, stunned for a moment as Yuuri shifted their hands, moving his own from Victor‘s shoulder to his hips. 

He smirked and lifted his eyebrows in a challenge. Victor returned his grin and let himself be led easily. They moved as one, their hips pressed close together, so close that Yuuri could feel the heat radiating from Victor‘s body through the layers of fabric between them. Yuuri led them in quick steps around the dance floor, and he made use of the fact that Victor was apparently not as experienced in tango as he was in other dances by spinning him through a number of turns and steps, always guiding him firmly, not letting Victor fall out of step, but fast-paced enough to leave him a bit breathless and disoriented. A lull in the music gave him the opportunity to dip Victor deeply, grasping him firmly around the wrist in order to pull him back up. From there it was only a moment’s work to undo the clasp of the diamond bracelet sitting loose around Victor‘s wrist and palming it. When he‘d pulled him back up he just needed to turn Victor out in a simple spin, leaving his right hand free to slip the bracelet safely into his pocket.

They stopped as the song ended, pressed close to one another once more, and Victor stared at him with shining eyes, his lips parted with heavy breaths.

“Good God”, he whispered, “that was…”

He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Yuuri gave him his best warm smile before detaching himself gently but decidedly from him. “I‘m afraid that's all the time I can give you tonight”, he said with a regretful little chuckle.

Victor gaped at him, his breathing still accelerated.

“Wait—you‘re leaving? Now?”

“I‘m afraid so”, Yuuri replied, grasping Victor‘s hand once more and bowing low over it to press the ghost of a kiss to the back of it. 

He made to turn away, but Victor‘s voice and the grip still firm around his hand made him turn back once more.

“Yorei, wait!”

For just a moment, Yuuri‘s breath caught in his throat, before he remembered. Silently he chided himself. It had been less than wise to give Victor a name for him that was so uncomfortably close to his real name. It had just been too tempting, and should Victor research it, the meaning he would find would likely throw him off enough not to assume that his real name was anywhere close to it. But still, hearing something that was so close to his real name from Victor‘s lips made his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He hoped that his momentary trepidation didn't show in his face as he turned back towards Victor.

“Will I see you again?”, Victor asked, and Yuuri almost wanted to laugh at the hopeful expression on his face. _So eager to lose your valuables to me_ , he thought.

Out loud, he said: “Soon.” And with a last smile and a slight inclination of his head, he turned away and strode from the room.

Once he had made it out of the mansion and out onto the mostly deserted streets of late night Florence, Yuuri‘s fingers played with the diamond bracelet hidden in his pocket all the way back to his hotel. But his thoughts occupied with the phantom feeling of Victor‘s half-hard cock still pressed close to his hips.

* * *

This time it didn’t take quite as long for Victor to notice his loss. 

Christophe had detached himself momentarily from Matthieu shortly after Yorei had disappeared from Victor’s arms in order to hear all about Victor’s mysterious dance partner, having finally seen with his own eyes, and to express his own opinion about his physique, his clothes, his skills, his ass in quite an extraordinary amount of detail.

Victor, still high on the thrill of his dance with Yorei, heat still radiating from his core, was gesturing enthusiastically while recounting their conversation, hidden away in the same place he had first encountered Yorei, when he noticed the absence of the distinct weight and glimmer that had been sitting around his wrist all evening.

He interrupted himself, shaking out his arm thoughtfully, like he half-expected the bracelet to fall out of his sleeve, despite the fact that his sleeves tonight only went halfway up his forearm. He traced the fingers of his other hand lightly along the bare skin of his wrist, as Christophe regarded him with a curious expression.

“Anything the matter, my friend?”

“My bracelet”, Victor murmured absently, “It’s gone.”

“Have you lost it?”, Christophe asked, distractedly, clearly more interested in hearing more about Yorei than Victor’s missing jewellery.

“I’m not sure.” Victor tried to think back. When did he last remember having it? He could distinctly recall Alexis putting it on him this evening, Victor having struggled with the clasp on his own. But throughout the evening he hadn’t paid attention to it. Had it possibly snagged on the sleeves of the light coat he’d come with? Had he lost it on one of his and Christophe’s strolls through the gardens, or on the dance floor?

“You can have them ask the Crispinos’ attendants. They’ll know if it’s turned up somewhere”, Christophe suggested, leaning back in his chair leisurely. “Was it special?”

“Not particularly”, Victor said absentmindedly, still thinking back over the evening, trying to figure out when it could have gotten lost. It did have rather an intricate clasp, he didn’t think it could just open by itself easily. “It was a gift from my aunt, a few years back. An old favourite of hers, but not an heirloom or anything. Its pattern matched my dress.”

“A shame”, Christophe replied easily, “but these things happen.” Then he sat up suddenly. “You don’t think it was stolen, do you?”, he asked, and now there was a glimmer of intrigue on his face.

Victor scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chris. Who would be so brazen as to steal something at an event like this?”

Christophe’s eyebrows lifted suggestively, and it took Victor a few seconds to catch his meaning, but when he did, his own eyebrows drew down.

“No, that’s absurd! He wouldn’t!”

“How do you know?”, Chris asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You don’t know the first thing about him.” 

Victor couldn’t tell if he genuinely believed Yorei may have stolen from him, or if he was just trying to rile him up. 

“He wouldn’t”, he reiterated, and again, when Chris gave him a dubious look, “he _wouldn’t_! He’s a gentleman!”

Christophe leaned back again, smirking. “You mean he’s been acting like a gentleman. You don’t know anything about his relations or his upbringing, do you?”

Victor scowled. “Those are completely baseless accusations, Chris, and I would thank you not to speak of him that way. It befits us better than to judge a man based on something that we don’t have a smidgen of proof for. I may have just lost the bracelet. For all I know it may still be lying on the vanity back in my hotel room. There is absolutely no indication that it was stolen at all, nor that it was Yorei who took it.”

“Alright, alright! No need to get riled up, I won’t say a word more against your precious Ghost. It makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it?”, Christophe mused, “Why, then, all the secrecy? What’s the point of it?”

“Why?”, Victor echoed. “Because it’s a mystery, Chris! It’s thrilling. It’s fun! Do you know how long it’s been since I last had fun at one of these events?”

“Why, I’m sorry I’m not entertaining enough company for you anymore, my darling”, Chris said, with a chuckle that let him know he wasn’t really offended.

“You know what I mean”, Victor hedged nevertheless. “You know how… how tiring all of this”, he gestured broadly around them, encompassing the whole building, “has been lately. And now I’m finally looking forward to these stuffy affairs again. Isn’t that more than enough reason for a little secrecy?”

“I suppose so”, Chris replied with a shrug, “just don’t let your guard down too much, Vitya. You’ll make yourself a target.”

* * *

By the time Victor had made it back to his luxurious hotel room that night, the bracelet had not turned up again. Instead the recollections of his uneven earrings a few weeks ago, and the missing diamonds on his gown before that had returned to him. Thinking back, he could not quite remember if those had been the same nights that he had met Yorei. It would have been easy enough to ask Alexis when they were helping him out of his blouse and skirts, but for some reason, he kept silent. 

What would he do if it turned out it had indeed been those exact same parties? He didn’t know, and until he did, he’d rather not find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**V.**

Yuuri knew he was pushing it by returning to Nikiforov once more.

It was unusual for him to target the same person multiple times, especially in such a short space of time. It would be better for him to move on, he knew, stick to events without Nikiforov around for a while, approach different targets. The risk of being discovered grew exponentially when targeting the same person more than once, and sneaking his way into these kinds of events without proper credentials too often would eventually make him conspicuous to the guards.

Yuuri was very good at blending into the background, when he so desired, and at appearing bland and unassuming. It was better for him if it stayed that way. No, there were plenty of other paths he could take, plenty of other walks of life that he could make his playground for a while. There was always the business elite and their high-rise cocktail parties, or the Hollywood crowd with their more chaotic, colourful galas.

There were starlets and business executives and gamblers aplenty waiting to be relieved of their fortunes. But none of them were as exciting as Victor. None as captivating. None as beautiful.

Yuuri managed to force himself to lay low for another few weeks, the diamond bracelet and the rest of his spoils from that night long since sold off. A large part of the profits was on its way to an account in Yutopia Katsuki’s name now, via a complicated chain of shell corporations and non-existent legal entities that Phichit had helped him set up a few years ago that would be nigh on impossible for anyone to trace back to him.

He’d heard from his sister that there had been new regulations implemented in Japan with regards to fire safety, and the onsen was therefore in need of extensive modernisation. So of course Yuuri had delivered—this, taking care of his family, helping the long-standing tradition of Yuutopia stay afloat, was why he’d started this particular line of work in the first place, after all. But he would always make sure that his dubious activities would never fall back on the Katsuki family’s good name.

He’d even toyed with the idea of going back home for a couple of weeks to see his family, but while he knew that they would welcome him with loving arms, it was best for them if he was seen there as little as possible. Should he ever get caught, it was best to have as little to still connect him to Hasetsu as he could.

So, he’d spent his time keeping his training up, researching with Phichit for new promising leads on upcoming events and careless targets, and spending some quality time with his dog Vicchan; taking him out for long walks in the park or playing with him for hours in the open space of his modest loft apartment.

Eventually, however, his fingers were itching to get back into other people’s pockets. As much as it had been necessity that had made him dip his toes into this line of work in the first place, it was the addictive thrill of a job well done more than anything that had made him stick with it much longer than necessity dictated. It was a potent mixture: the satisfaction of having figured out the puzzle and overcome all the obstacles, the buzzing awareness of the danger of being found out, and the incomparable high of knowing you’d gotten away with it—it made him feel like he was on top of the world. It made him feel untouchable.

This feeling was what made it impossible for him to stay away from the game for long, impossible to even think of quitting. He was thoroughly hooked on it, and had never seriously tried to pry himself loose from its grasp. Why would he, when this was something he was actually good at? He’d spent too many years trying to find something, anything, that gave him a sense of purpose or direction in his life, too many years being a burden on his family while he was trying to figure out what to do with himself. Well, he’d found it. He’d found it, and he excelled at it in a way he never thought he could excel at anything. He’d always thought himself thoroughly mediocre, but in this case it was that very mediocrity that had helped him gain his footing in the game. He was inconspicuous, and easily forgotten, and that had made it easier to slip away before anyone noticed aught amiss.

Over the years he’d learned, of course, how to be striking, how to draw gazes and attention in the right way—with the right clothes, the right attitude, the right posture, all of which he could shed at a moment’s notice, if he needed to not be seen. He’d learned to tell the difference too, when it was wise to be seen, and when it was wise to be invisible. He’d learned to use these tools to make people want—because never were people so careless as they were when they wanted something.

Never was an old plaything so easily discarded as when a shiny new one presented itself.

And Victor—well, Yuuri had learned years ago what it felt like to be wanted, had learned to read it in people’s eyes, their expressions, in the way their whole bodies were intent on him if he wanted them to be. But never had anyone _wanted_ him the way that Victor did, that heady, intoxicating want that made Yuuri throw all caution to the wind and seek him out a fourth time after all.

If Victor wanted him like no one before, he told himself, then he would also be careless with his possessions like no one else. And the Nikiforov family had some very special heirlooms indeed in their collection, which to get his hands on would pose a challenge like none other.

That’s why Yuuri gave in when the next opportunity presented itself, an opportunity that was just too tempting to pass up: a masked ball.

A masked ball, the waking dream of every jewellery thief under the sun. Sure, there were other specific challenges that went along with them, depending on the rules the ball operated by, but the chance to cover up your face without suspicion, to not only be allowed, but encouraged, to conceal your identity… that was something every thief coveted.

Yuuri briefly wondered if he would have competition at this ball, but there hadn’t been anyone operating on his level in this area for a while now, so even if he did, they would not be a threat to him. In fact, an amateurish thief or two, thinking the ball an easy opportunity to make away with some treasures might provide an excellent distraction to draw attention away from himself.

In any case the ball would be the perfect opportunity to get close to Victor again without drawing too much suspicion. He’d researched the event and venue meticulously with Phichit’s help, and bought a couple of masks in different designs. Both fancy enough to fit in at the ball, but unobtrusive, almost generic, the kind of shape and colours that would hopefully be reproduced in at least half a dozen other masks present at the ball.

When the night finally came, Yuuri forced himself to tamp down his excitement—as much as his body always felt the thrill of anticipation before a job, he needed to be calm and level-headed, needed to anticipate all eventualities. Being distracted could prove fatal; one careless mistake and the next thing he knows he might find himself in a prison cell.

But tonight his excitement just wouldn’t be subdued. He paced in his hotel room, eagerly waiting for the hands on his watch to creep forward until it was finally time for him to leave. The walk to the venue was a short one, and Yuuri made it there in time with the crowds; just late enough to be fashionable. Groups and pairs and the occasional lone straggler made their way into the brightly lit foyer of the venue, and Yuuri slipped in amongst them. This part was easy enough: while there were a few men and women of bulky build in intimidating black suits stationed by the doors, they were only meant to weed out the most obvious misfits trying to get a glimpse of a high society event. The invitations and credentials would have to be produced at the inner door leading into the hall proper, and by then everyone would need to be masked as well.

Right now, there was still a fair few people with uncovered faces, but there were also those who were already masked, particularly those whose masks were more elaborate, incorporated into their hairstyle or intricate contraptions that took a long time to put on correctly. Yuuri, too, had already slipped on his mask, disappearing under it like a second skin, and no one paid him any mind when he slipped into the foyer. Mulling about the chatting and laughing guests, the groups waiting before the cloakroom and those still putting the finishing touches on their outfits and masks, he managed to snatch a few small prizes, making them disappear neatly into a concealed pouch hidden underneath his billowing, ruffled shirt. He didn’t carry a bag—he never did. Having a bag in the actual hall would just be inconvenient and draw needless attention, and leaving it at the cloakroom made it too difficult to disappear quickly, so he always made sure that he could carry everything he needed in his pockets and whatever hidden recess he had within his clothes.

Once he’d gotten a feel for the crowd and an idea of how the officials at the doors proceeded before letting the attendees into the hall, Yuuri made his way toward one of the entrances. He suspected the people attending the doors were chosen to be of utmost professionalism, but still he spotted one that he judged to have a healthy appreciation for the male form, and surreptitiously tugged open one more button of his shirt while he was waiting. The young man, possibly around the same age as Yuuri or even younger, was indeed the picture of professionality—almost. When he looked down in order to receive the invitation that Yuuri held out to him, Yuuri saw distinctly how his eyes flicked to Yuuri’s collarbone and the exposed top of his chest on their way between Yuuri’s hand and his face. He smiled politely as he gave the invitation a cursory glance. It wasn’t the real thing, but a good forgery done by a trustworthy man. Nevertheless, there was the familiar flutter of nervousness as Yuuri waited for the attendant to nod—no matter how good the forgery, no matter how thorough the plan, something could always go wrong.

But no—the attendant nodded and made a mark on the invitation with his pen before handing it back to Yuuri and waving him on to another line of men in dark suits. They were there to make sure that everyone was masked before they went any further, and that no one carried multiple masks. Yuuri had read that there had been considerable mischief in the last years with masks being changed and swapped in order to dance multiple times with the same person, or to get another go at someone who had already uttered a rejection. With the ball having rather strict rules with regards to these things, they were trying hard to put a stop to such behaviour this time around.

Yuuri didn’t mind it much. He was already wearing both of his masks, the second one, deliberately chosen to be a little smaller than the first, stuck to the inside of it and held there almost seamlessly with the help of a little bit of putty. The guards patted him down and then, seeing as he didn’t have a bag or purse with him, waved him through.

And then Yuuri was inside, amidst that colourful crowd of people in all shapes and sizes, wearing gowns and suits and other elaborate outfits and masks in all colours imaginable. Within the first three minutes he saw two other people wearing a mask with a shape and pattern similar to his outer one, and he smirked to himself. These people were so predictable.

He moved further inside the room, trying to get a feeling for the layout of it. He’d taken a look at the blueprints, but it was always easier to get a feeling for the dimensions of a location if one was there in person. There was a large open space in the middle of the room that was almost entirely occupied by the dance floor. As opposed to other events he’d attended—dinner parties and fundraisers, mostly—this event was focused almost exclusively on dancing. There were a few groups of armchairs and chaises longues scattered around the room in loose clusters, but no formal seating arrangements. Likewise, there were drinks and hors d’oeuvres passed around on trays, but no large buffet or served dinner. That served Yuuri well enough. He liked to keep moving when he was on a job, never staying in the same spot for too long, and this kind of event was perfect for that. Not to mention that there was a lot more chaos and bustle that the masks only contributed to, all creating ideal conditions for him to work. Along the edges of the hall there were smooth marble pillars rising up to the roof in regular intervals, effectively sectioning off a small strip of the floor to all sides, creating a kind of gallery.

Within that gallery were a few opportunities for attendees to regale themselves apart from dancing, among them a couple of elaborate backdrops in front of which to have themselves photographed, an actual gallery comprised of paintings and photographs with a masquerade theme, and a booth were attendees could vote for the most beautiful and most original masks and outfit, the winners of which would receive a prize by the end of the evening.

Yuuri made his way around the room taking all of this in, making mental notes of all possible obstacles, hiding places and exits; letting his eyes flick over the splendour around him only with cursory glances. He took a glass from a passing tray because it would be unusual to be seen without a drink in his hand all night, though he only took small sips, wetting his lips with the expensive champagne more for show than anything else.

Glass in hand, he took another turn about the room, this time paying a little more attention to the people surrounding him, looking around for Victor, or anyone else who might be familiar to him. He didn’t make very good progress—every now and again he was stopped and asked for a dance. Since you were only supposed to have one dance with any one person, it was customary not to turn any of them down, so Yuuri acquiesced every time, not wanting to draw any negative attention to himself. He led, or let himself be led, across the dance floor, making idle chatter with his partner if they so desired or else letting his eyes wander throughout the room some more.

In the end, despite all of the interruptions, it didn’t take him that long to find Victor, mostly because Victor clearly wanted to be found. When Yuuri’s eyes alit on him from across the room, he recognised him immediately. Not because of the long midnight blue ball gown he was wearing, or because of the delicate braided crown of his hair, dozens of tiny white and blue flowers worked into the strands (though his hair was, of course, an indication). No, it was because of Victor’s mask, which could hardly even be called a mask. It was made of metal, gleaming silver, and worked in the most intricate filigree, swirls of flowers and ornaments worked through with winking pearls and jewels where the curling lines converged into blossoms. However, the spaces between the detailed pattern were free, creating a lacy effect that bared Victor’s face almost entirely to any onlookers, despite it being mostly covered.

Yuuri found himself wondering how Victor had even managed to get himself inside the hall with such a flimsy excuse for a mask. Not that it was low in quality—the filigree was exquisite, and the glittering jewels set into the metal were certainly not made of glass. But it was one of the rules of his ball that the mask was meant to conceal the identity of its wearer, of which Victor’s mask was doing a poor job. Yuuri supposed someone like Victor Nikiforov could get away with a lot of things, however, and it wasn’t like anyone would ever struggle to recognize Victor if they knew him at all—the distinct shade of his hair and his famously elaborate outfits made sure of that. So maybe that was why the organisers of this ball had decided not to put up a fight against it. Maybe they had simply been paid off. It didn’t matter to Yuuri.

He didn’t make his way over right away when his current dance ended, but he did slowly work himself closer through the mass of people and kept a close eye on Victor. It was a lot easier to do here than it had been at the last events; there was no chance of Victor spotting him prematurely if he hung around too much. Yuuri let his eyes trace Victor’s body, taking in every glimmer and shine he could find. There were no earrings tonight, with good reason: they would only have faded away next to the splendour of his mask. For similar reasons, Yuuri suspected, there was only a simple collar adorning Victor’s neck, midnight blue to match his gown but studded with a subtle pattern of glimmering precious stones that Yuuri would have to get a closer look at to identify. It sat snugly against Victor’s throat, shifting slightly, stones winking, with every move of his graceful neck, every bob of his Adam’s apple. It made Yuuri’s own throat feel tight with heat to imagine yanking Victor closer by it, though he suspected it was rather unsuited to a rough treatment such as that. Below his neck, only a pale strip of skin separated the choker from the body of his dress, which consisted mainly of lace underlaid with a sheer, dark blue fabric, down to his waist and the sleeves that reached his elbows, clinging tight to every curve and dip of his body. Yuuri couldn’t see any bracelets or bangles on his wrist, and only a couple of rings glittering on his fingers. From the waist, the dress’s skirt flared out, not stiff but in flowing layers, the pattern of the lace continuing asymmetrically along one side, picked out in shining threads of silver and shades of blue. The fabric flowed down until it touched the ground, a short train trailing behind Victor.

The real eye-catcher of the outfit, however, apart from the mask, was the back of the dress, by virtue of being absent. The neckline of the dress plunged deeply in the back, almost to the small of Victor’s back, the dark lace trimming the seam flush against his pale skin, like ivy clinging to the surface of a tree. When Victor moved, you could see the muscles rippling in his back, his broad shoulders tapering down into a narrow waist. Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was this that made his mouth run dry, or the web of fine, interconnected chains and strings of white gold attached to the back of his collar and a few strategic places along the hem of the dress. The delicate chains cascaded down his exposed back, forming a flowing waterfall with glinting diamonds and sapphires suspended between them.

Quickly calculating the estimated value of that jewellery in his head, based on the size of those gemstones and the amount of white gold, Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath of air.

He knew he needed to get closer to Victor, already trying to piece together a plan in his head of how best to get at that glimmering waterfall. It was an ingenious construction: it drew the eyes of everyone around, but couldn’t be easily reached by anyone standing in front of Victor, and the generous skirts and trailing train of the dress made it near-impossible to get very close to him from behind. It was a challenge if Yuuri had ever seen one, and if there was one thing Yuuri liked, it was a good challenge.

He took his time—there was no rush, the night was still young and he knew Victor wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while yet. Yuuri trailed around the room, not lingering too much in Victor’s vicinity but always keeping an eye on him, on the people surrounding him, on the ways he could move in the elaborate dress and the ways in which he was restricted. He took note of the way the fabric moved and flowed, guessed from that how heavy it may be, and how rough or smooth its surface. He took a closer look at how the ends of the chains were attached to the fabric, what mechanisms were used to suspend the gems between them. It was difficult to tell from a distance, and he didn’t dare pass close to Victor more than a couple of times, but eventually he got a good idea of the way the jewellery worked.

He waited for an opportunity when Victor was not in conversation with anyone and the crowd of people around him was unusually thin before he approached him. He was sipping on a glass of champagne—his fourth since Yuuri had first spotted him—and his eyes passed right over Yuuri at first as he was making his way across the hall, which made Yuuri smirk under his mask. Once he had gotten close enough to speak to Victor without raising his voice, he did so, putting a teasing tone into his words.

“One would think you were trying to attract someone’s attention, turning up here looking like that.”

He could see Victor’s eyes gliding back over to him, an expression of mild annoyance on his face at first, but then he did a double take, taking in Yuuri more closely. Yuuri could see the furrow in his brow smoothing out underneath his mask.

“Yorei?”, Victor asked, almost a whisper.

Yuuri hummed and stepped closer, taking Victor’s easily offered hand and bowing low over it, ghosting a kiss over its back.

“Well?”, Victor said when Yuuri had straightened up again, “Did it work?”

Yuuri smirked, knowing that Victor wouldn’t be able to see it, his own mask covering most of his face, including his mouth, but he trusted that Victor would be able to hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“Like a charm”, he said, “I haven’t been able to look away since I spotted you.”

Yuuri swore he could detect a hint of colour creeping over Victor’s face, but his expectant expression remained unchanged.

“Well then, why did it take you so long to approach me? You’re not starting to be intimidated by me now, are you?”

“Not in the least, let me assure you. But alas, my beauty, the ball’s rule we live under is a harsh one: we are only allowed one dance. And I always like to save the best for last.” The words flowed from Yuuri’s mouth without a hitch, a little too smoothly, maybe. A little too true. He always had a certain collection of flattery and smooth-talking prepared, but these words weren’t from his usual cache. Perhaps the mask was making him bold; perhaps Victor’s beauty was making him careless.

The pleased expression on Victor’s face was well worth it, even as he was trying to affect a pout.

“We may dance only once, that much is true, but there is no rule banning us from conversing for as long as it pleases us”, he said, “let us then save the best for just a little longer, shall we?” With those words he grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing try and handed it to Yuuri, lifting his own in the process.

Yuuri accepted the glass with a small tilt of his head and raised it as well to toast Victor. “As you wish, my beauty.”

* * *

They had found one of the suites of chairs scattered around the room and taken a seat, Victor lowering himself carefully on the chaise longue, the fabric of his skirt and train draped artfully over the seat. When Yuuri made to sit in the armchair next to him, he was surprised by a hand around his wrist pulling him down on the seat next to Victor as well.

“It’ll be easier to talk this way, over all this din, don’t you think?”, Victor’s low voice said close to him.

 _So eager_ , Yuuri thought with a grin. “Quite right”, he said aloud, “it wouldn’t do for anything to get lost.”

Victor searched his gaze with an unreadable expression for a moment, flicking his eyes over his mask as if he was trying to find something in its impassive features.

“You know, I rather miss seeing your face, Yorei. This is a nice enough mask, but really nothing compared with the face that’s hidden underneath.”

Yuuri gave an easy laugh, ignoring the sudden fluttering in his stomach at Victor’s words. He expected—in fact rather counted on—Victor finding him attractive, and he was no stranger to being complimented like this. It was—it should be—nothing to him. “Well, not everyone here can get away with a mask such as yours, I’m afraid. You’ll have to contend yourself with my porcelain face for tonight.”

Victor pushed his lips forward in a pout once more. “You do so love keeping me in the dark, don’t you, _Yorei_?”

The insolence in Victor’s tone made Yuuri huff a laugh. “So you did look it up after all. How naughty. It seems you’re not very good at following instructions, are you?”

Yuuri could see a spark of heat flaring in Victor’s eyes at his words, the pout disappearing to be replaced by a crooked grin sitting in the corner of his mouth. “Only when I want to be.”

Clicking his tongue, Yuuri shook his head. “Ah, following instructions is so easy when they are what you want to do in the first place. But the proof of true discipline lies in following the orders that go against your own wishes as well.” The humour disappeared from his voice, he nevertheless let a hint of a promise flow into it as he reached out a gloved hand and traced his fingers over Victor’s cheek, right under the edge of his mask. “Have you never had anyone teach you true discipline, Victor?”

“I suppose not”, Victor replied, the breezy tone of his voice belied by the way his pupils dilated at Yuuri’s words, his touch.

“No, you wouldn’t”, Yuuri said, remembering himself suddenly and tearing his gaze forcefully away from Victor’s face, lowering his hand, “I suppose no one would dare to try and teach a man in your position some manners.”

He tried to keep his voice light, but he couldn’t quite help the edge that creeped into it, not as playful this time, something more bitter. He bit his tongue. He couldn’t get too sidetracked, no matter how fascinating Victor was, no matter how much fun it was to tease him. No matter how beautifully he responded to every one of Yuuri’s flirtations.

It may be of essence to have Victor be attached to him, to have him under his spell, but he was still a target. He was still a Nikiforov.

 _He’s still rich_ , Yuuri told himself in the privacy of his mind, _Fuck the rich_.

When Victor replied, there was a regretful tone in his voice.

“I suppose not. I do wish on occasion there was someone who would dare to teach me.”

Yuuri huffed a breath. “I can’t say I think your family would take kindly to anyone… teaching you.” He knew his voice had lost its teasing tone completely now. He wasn’t entirely sure he was still talking about the same thing as Victor was, really.

Victor gave a contemplative hum, deep in his throat, and Yuuri could feel his gaze on him, trained on the side of his face, or rather, his mask, as if he could read anything in it.

“I don’t think that my family ever gave much thought to my… education, to be honest”, he said, and his tone, too, was turning more serious. “So I’m not sure why they would start now.”

Yuuri met his eyes after all, then, fixing his gaze on Victor’s face, so open and readable under his flimsy mask.

“They haven‘t?”, he asked.

“Not really”, Victor said easily, leaning back on the chaise longue as much as his dress would allow, and elegantly crossing his legs, “I rather had to take it upon myself to educate myself.”

Yuuri couldn‘t keep a small scoff from escaping his lips.

“And how has that been going for you? Learn anything of interest?”

“Yorei…”, Victor said, drawing out his name in a semblance of a tease. “So little faith in my manners, have you? Have I been treating you with such callousness as to give you reason to doubt me?”

Yuuri hummed. “You haven‘t”, he admitted, “but then again I believe the proof of a character is hardly in how he treats his equals.”

He left the implication of the sentence unspoken, as well as the knowledge that they were hardly equals—nowhere close in terms of Yuuri‘s real identity, but even his assumed one was a sure few steps below Victor on the social ladder.

Victor seemed to catch his meaning easily enough.

“I have to agree”, he said quietly, “though I am not so vain as to think myself perfect in this regard. I am always willing to learn more, however. Especially if it was you teaching me.”

With the last words, the teasing tone returned to his voice, steering the conversation easily back to the realm of double entendre, mainly for the benefit of possible eavesdroppers, Yuuri suspected.

“Don‘t you think you‘d have a lot to teach me, my Ghost?”, he asked, raising his hand to tap Yuuri underneath the chin, where his skin was laid bare beneath his mask, his fingers hot against Yuuri‘s skin.

“I‘d have a whole world of things to teach you, my beauty”, he said, taking the cue to let some heat flow back into his own voice as well, “though I‘m not sure you would like them all…”

Victor grinned, a challenge and an invitation rolled into one. “I feel confident I can handle it.”

“I shall take you at your word then, and not go easy on you”, Yuuri said, holding his gaze firmly, “would you desire we start here and now?”, he added, leaning a little more closely toward Victor, his voice low. This was another advantage of the mask—since it covered his mouth, that would make it impossible for someone to read his lips from a distance, and the way the porcelain muffled his voice also made it less likely for someone close to overhear.

Nonetheless, when Victor inclined his head in invitation, murmuring a “please, teach me” that made Yuuri shiver, he leaned closer, trailing his fingers in his thin satin gloves over the soft skin of Victor‘s neck, in keeping with their cover of flirtation. He took a few moments to collect himself, to attempt to calm his thoughts. This was one way he had not anticipated the conversation going, and if he had misjudged Victor, he could very well be landing himself in some deep shit in a few seconds. His instincts told him that Victor was genuine, and he prided himself on his good instincts. You did not make it very long and very far in this game without having excellent instincts. But at the same time, you also did not make it very far by giving people the benefit of the doubt. An error in judgement here could very well cost him dearly.

He took a deep breath and bought himself a few seconds’ time by curling a wisp of Victor’s hair that was sitting loose at his neck lazily around his fingers. In his mind, he went through all the research he had accumulated in the last months, searching for the right snippet to share. Juicy, but not too incriminating. Not common knowledge, but not too far up the list of Nikiforov family secrets. Victor was already casting him a curious glance, eyebrows raised, by the time Yuuri finally opened his mouth.

“I‘m sure you are aware of the Nikiforov family‘s involvement in the overthrow of the government of Estonia a few years back, even though you may not be aware of the full extent of it”, he murmured and, when Victor gave a nod, he continued, “but what you may not know is that they have been involved, either actively or passively, in aiding with financial support, in the overthrow—or as they would probably rather have it known—the replacement of at least two more democratically elected governments in Eastern Europe in the last two decades. Perhaps more, but these are the ones that there’s substantial evidence for.”

Victor nodded like this wasn’t new or at least not surprising information to him, and then he smiled and turned his head toward Yuuri’s shoulder like Yuuri just paid him the sweetest compliment, concealing his own mouth from prying eyes on the process. He was a good actor, Yuuri noted, disconcertingly so. With a swooping feeling in his stomach, he hoped again that his confidence was not misplaced.

“I was aware that we funnelled large amounts of money into Sofia right around the time of their coup. I could never quite figure out where it went, though. I would not be surprised, however, if my father preferred the new government there to the old one. I have to say the new president is a right tit, very easy to manipulate.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Such language from one so fair…”, he clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, “But admittedly, a _right_ tit, indeed.”

Victor hummed, brushing his cheek ever so slightly against the shoulder of Yuuri’s jacket. “What’s the third one, then?”

Yuuri tilted his head to look at Victor expectantly, before remembering that Victor could not see his expression through the mask. “I wonder… have there been so many coups and revolutions around you lately that you cannot guess it? From what I’ve heard it has been a rather _heated_ affair…”

Victor’s forehead creased for a moment as he thought, then Yuuri could see his eyes widening. “No”, he whispered, “but—Belarus was our ally! The royal family were our friends!”

“Well”, Yuuri mused, “they were your allies until it was no longer convenient for them to be. And then they weren’t. Sorry.”

One of Victor’s hands closed firmly around Yuuri’s arm as he looked up at him, still wide-eyed, acting skills for the moment forgotten. “The fire in the palace…?”

“All set up, I’m afraid. I’m not sure if it was their intent that so many should perish—always difficult to find proof of intent. But it was definitely not set by rebels and agitators during the riots. No matter what they try to tell you, the times simply don’t line up.”

Victor shook his head slowly, continuously, processing the words. Yuuri could see a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “And my family was involved in that?”

“Undeniably. There’s evidence tying them to the Grand General Todorov, still Lieutenant General Todorov back then. There’s transcripts of conferences involving your father and other high officials of Russia, discussing Todorov as the new head of Belarus, long before the riots broke out. There’s a clear flow of money to a handful of guards in the palace who were later—”

“Stop, stop.”

Victor’s hand retreated from around his arm, wrapping around Victor’s own torso instead, his face closing off. “Are you lying to me?”, he finally said after a few moments’ silence.

Yuuri tilted his head to the side thoughtfully. “That will be ultimately for you to decide”, he finally said, quietly. When Victor didn’t say anything else, just chewed on his lips lost in thought, Yuuri sighed and sat up a little straighter, moving away from Victor on the chaise longue.

“Perhaps I should leave you. I think I’ve taught you rather more than enough for one night.”

As he made to get up, however, a hand wrapped around his wrist. “Wait”, Victor said, suddenly looking up at him again. “You still owe me one dance!”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows, though Victor could not see it. “If you’re still sure that’s what you want…”

Looking into Victor’s eyes, he could see the uncertainty still warring within them, but nonetheless Victor nodded. “Yes”, he said, “You owe me a dance, and I’m not letting you go before I’ve had it.”

“Alright”, Yuuri said, inclining his head and making sure that his smile was audible in his voice. “Come on then.”

He shifted his hand in Victor’s grasp, so that he could pull Victor to his feet. Victor followed his urging with one fluid, graceful motion, the skirt of his dress unfolding behind him, sliding down from the chaise longue. He followed Yuuri easily onto the densely-populated dance floor, and Yuuri took note of the crowd parting for him, perhaps unconsciously, leaving an open space in the wake of his billowing skirt.

Yuuri was conscious on a lot of eyes on him, as well—no doubt sizing him up, trying to figure out who was hiding underneath that mask that led Victor Nikiforov onto the dance floor like it was a matter of course. Their gazes didn’t itch on his skin as much as he expected them to. _Let them look_ , he thought, _let them wonder_.

It did add another layer of challenge to his plan, having people watching them, but he didn’t mind. He liked a challenge.

There would be no tango dancing for them tonight, no wild spinning around the dance floor. While Victor was still graceful and nimble in his dress, he lacked the freedom of movement which that kind of dance would require. Yuuri led him in a simple waltz, keeping a close eye on Victor’s face, trying to discern what he was making of the information Yuuri had just given him. It didn’t seem like Victor wanted to know anything else right now—maybe he still needed time to process, maybe he’d prefer to verify Yuuri’s information on his own, from a more reliable source. Yuuri didn’t begrudge him that. It would be foolish of him to take Yuuri by his word, even more foolish than it had been for Yuuri to confide in him in the first place. And Victor was no fool.

So, Yuuri left him to his thoughts and concentrated on his hand resting on Victor’s shoulder blade instead, the warm skin soft under his fingers. One of the chains of the back jewellery was threaded between his fingers, and with every one of their steps he could feel the intricate web of white gold strings moving, tugging gently against his fingers, bumping the back of his hand, swinging with every turn.

He wasn’t able to see it, but it was right there in his mind’s eye—he’d memorised the pattern of criss-crossing and overlapping chains before he’d approached Victor. The one between his fingers now was one with three points of attachment: one at either shoulder, the chain sewn into the seam of the dress. Right in the middle of it there was a sapphire in a setting of white gold, cut into a teardrop shape. At the pointed top of the jewel another chain was attached, going straight up where it joined the waterfall of strings dropping down from Victor’s choker.

Yuuri let the chain glide through his fingers, slowly, just a little with each turn and step they took, like he wasn’t even conscious of it, until it was pulled taut on the side closest to him. Not so taut as to give a noticeable tug on the dress, just enough that there was no give. The next step was tricky—the chain was thin enough, and it wasn’t difficult cutting it with the small set of pliers he’d concealed in his sleeves, but manoeuvering the pliers into position without noticeably removing his palm from Victor’s back, getting the chain to sit between the two prongs of the pliers without being able to see it, it took a while.  
When the chain was cut, he let the longer end of it trail down into his sleeve, using the momentum of a swift turn to move his hand closer to the middle of Victor’s back, until he could feel the sapphire resting against his wrist. Once he’d managed to cut the chain at the top of the jewel, it only needed a quick flick of his fingers to wrap the end of the chain around one of the other strings crossing over Victor’s back so it wouldn’t swing freely against his skin and catch his attention. The other side of the jewel was more tricky—he couldn’t move his hand over any further without it becoming suspicious. He could already feel the weight of the precious stone safely in his sleeve, but it was still attached by one more chain to Victor’s dress.

The song was nearing its end, so Yuuri would need to take a risk in detaching the last chain quickly. What he needed was a suitable distraction, and this time, dipping Victor was not an option. So instead, he wrapped the chain around the tip of one of his fingers, before giving Victor’s other hand an affectionate squeeze with his and seeking his gaze. “I have to say, Victor, one dance with you is simply not enough for me anymore. You’ve spoiled me, that last time we saw each other.” A look of surprise crossed Victor’s face just for a moment, before it melted away into a pleased grin, and it was at that moment that Yuuri gave the chain a quick tug. The delicate links broke, and with a feeling of glowing hot satisfaction settling in his gut, Yuuri felt the sapphire glide deeper into his sleeve, free of all attachment.

“I feel rather the same way”, Victor said as their dance was winding down, the thoughtful furrow of his brow chased away for a moment by Yuuri’s words. “I’d much rather be able to keep you by my side the whole evening, Yorei.”

“Next time”, Yuuri promised softly, removing his hand from Victor’s back as the music faded away and they came to a standstill, but holding fast to Victor’s other hand, pulling it closer to him and bowing low to kiss it, while resting his other hand on the front of his waistcoat in something like a gentlemanly gesture. This allowed him to let the jewel and chains glide from his sleeve into the hidden pouch sewn to the inside of his shirt.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon”, he said, straightening up, and there was something wistful now in Victor’s eyes.

“I’ll be waiting”, he said solemnly, “and thinking about everything you’ve taught me. In the meanwhile, look after yourself, Yorei.”

Yuuri tilted his head slightly, giving Victor a curious glance. “I always do. Why, is there anything I should be worried about?”, he asked, a slightly amused tone to his voice like he was playing along.

“You never know”, Victor said, his tone not quite serious, but not as light as Yuuri’s, either. “There’s been talk of things going missing at events like this one lately.”

Yuuri’s breath stopped in his throat. He could feel his heartbeat increasing instantly and tried to focus on keeping his breathing calm and measured, more thankful than ever for the mask concealing his expression. Giving a thoughtful hum so as to not appear dumbstruck, he tried to analyse Victor’s tone and expression as quickly as he could. There didn’t seem to be anything pointed in his remark, no edge of sharpness or sarcasm that would indicate he suspected Yuuri in any way. But his face was still weirdly impassive, something placid bordering on an emotionless smile, but neither genuine worry nor open accusation were written on it. _He doesn’t know anything_ , Yuuri told himself, willing his heart rate to calm down, _even if he does suspect, he can’t prove anything, or he wouldn’t be bothering with pointed remarks_.

“Is that so?”, Yuuri finally said when he trusted his voice again, the pause only a little longer than would be natural upon hearing a piece of surprising news, “That’s terrible, I thank you for the warning, then.” He forced a wry chuckle into his voice, “I hope you haven’t been affected by those disappearances yourself?”

“Oh, not at all”, Victor replied easily, “I didn’t lose anything I minded parting with.”

“Well”, Yuuri cleared his throat, “I’m glad to hear it. I really do have to take my leave from you now though.” He squeezed Victor’s hand once more, glad that his gloves were concealing the dampness of his palm. “I’ll see you again soon, my beauty.”

“I look forward to it, my Ghost”, Victor replied with a small smile on his lips, and he sounded genuine to Yuuri’s ears. _He really is a good actor_ , Yuuri found himself thinking once more.

He inclined his head once more, and made a point of lingering in both his look and his touch, before turning away.

He made sure to keep his steps steady and unhurried until he was well out of Victor’s sight, before accelerating his pace.

“Shit”, he muttered under his breath, “shit.” He could still hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the adrenaline surging up hot in his veins. He made his way through the crowd, quicky, but forced himself not to push or jostle anyone, not to give the impression that he was fleeing. He found the nearest restroom along the side of the hall and locked himself inside, forcing deep breaths into his lungs.

He was not compromised, he tried to tell himself. It was an idle remark, nothing more, or else Victor wouldn’t have just let him go. It didn’t mean anything. He’d kept his cool, and he hadn’t given anything away, or so he hoped. In any case, it would be best if he made himself scarce as quickly as possible.

He removed his gloves and his mask with not-quite-steady hands, allowing himself to breathe freely for a few moments, and splashed some cool water from the sink on to his face. After he dried off, he pried his second mask loose from where it was stuck to the inside of the first—just to be sure. He peeled off the putty and, after rolling it into a small ball and wrapping it into a handkerchief, let it disappear into his pocket. Then he tied the second mask back on, the same shape as his first, but in deep blue and silver where the other one had been red and gold, and quite a different pattern, picked out in shining crystals. He took off his waistcoat and turned it inside out, bringing about a similar change in colour scheme, and then he loosened a bow that had been tied underneath the collar of his shirt, holding in place a piece of cloth in the fashion of a cravat, in a brocade pattern of red and gold. When he opened the bow, the cloth unfurled and he arranged it around his shoulders until it enveloped him like a short cape in a swirling pattern of blue and silver. Taking a step back, he pulled his gloves back on, examining the effect in the mirror. He indeed did not look like the same person who had just entered the bathroom. Gloves in place, he picked up his first mask and wiped it down carefully with another handkerchief, before burying it under a mound of towels in a basket off to the side.

He took another deep breath. He felt a lot calmer now, in his new disguise, a lot more in control of the situation. He took a moment to steel himself before opening the door of the restroom, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance, adjusting his gait to something a little more cumbersome than it had been—after all, the posture of a person, the way they carried themselves, could be just as distinctive as their appearance. He unlocked the door and stepped back into the hall.

Time to get out of here.

**VI.**

Yuuri decided to lay low for a while after that, but no one came after him. No one decried his name, either real or assumed, and he could find people to take his treasure off his hands just as well as he always did, and when after a few weeks he finally dared to show his face at an event again—albeit one without Victor in attendance—no one questioned his being there.

Perhaps it really had been an idle comment on Victor‘s side, maybe he really hadn‘t meant anything by it. He had been very careful, but it wasn‘t surprising, in the end, if the absence of certain expensive adornments would be noticed, even if it couldn‘t be traced back to anyone in particular.

Yuuri tried to put it out of his mind, which worked just about as well as he‘d expected. He kept turning Victor‘s words over in his mind, whether he wanted to or not, trying to discern the intent that had been lying beneath them. When that didn‘t get him anywhere, he kept collecting pieces of information about the Nikiforovs that were enlightening and could be easily shared, without really knowing why.

Victor had expressed interest in them after all, of his own accord, so maybe, if they should so happen to come face to face once more, Yuuri could use them to assuage Victor; a peace offering of sorts.

It wasn‘t like he was planning to meet Victor again, no—it would be too risky after what had happened at the masked ball. Yuuri needed to move on from this particular facet of society already. Better to assume he‘d been made, he told himself, than be careless and pay a dear price for it.

So he‘d told himself.

He didn‘t know how he found himself at the same event as Victor once again.

A not-unremarkable amount of research and planning must have gone into learning about the event and getting him into it, as it always does, and yet that not-unremarkable amount of research and planning somehow must have taken place in complete and utter disregard of that large cautious part of him that‘s been advising him to cut his losses and run, the part that had kept him alive and free up until now.

The only excuse Yuuri could offer was that his gut still insisted that Victor was safe, and he‘d never had reason to doubt his gut feeling before. But then again his gut feeling had never been so at odds with his caution before.

So Yuuri found himself at the same event as Victor again, somehow, and it did not end in disaster. It did not end with Yuuri in handcuffs or tackled to the floor by angry bodyguards, it did not end with Victor spitting his loathing into Yuuri‘s face.

It ended the same way as the last one, and as a whole number afterwards: with Victor one piece of information richer, and one piece of jewellery poorer.

And that‘s how it kept happening after that, like a neat little transaction. Yuuri told him something that Victor‘s family had been up to, to varying degrees of dismay or vindication from Victor. Sometimes it was things that Victor had already known, or at least suspected, and sometimes it was entirely new to him. No matter what Yuuri told him after that first time, Victor always seemed to take that information at face value, although Yuuri was sure Victor still did his own thorough research after he‘d heard about it (and Yuuri didn‘t betray that fragile and frankly unwarranted trust Victor put in him: he only fed Victor intel that he‘d verified himself was true). In turn, he took something from Victor, a payment of sorts, and didn‘t even know if Victor was aware of the price he paid.

At least, not at first. The longer their little arrangement went on, the harder it became to believe that Victor never noticed things going missing, had never made the connection to Yuuri (though Yuuri did his best to misdirect him every once in a while, to let him go without taking anything, or to steal something when Victor wasn‘t even aware that he was there). Victor‘s comments, too, cropped up again every once in a while, and while they were never of a kind that Yuuri would call pointed, they could certainly be interpreted as clues that Victor knew what was going on by someone who was looking for them.

He didn’t seem inclined to do anything about it, so Yuuri continued to take and continued not to mention it. And it‘s not like Victor was letting him, either—he wasn‘t making it easy for him, not at all. If anything, one might think he was going out of his way to provide Yuuri with a challenge. And whether or not he was doing it on purpose, Yuuri appreciated it.

He kept finding ways to relieve Victor of his jewellery under increasingly difficult circumstances, and he did it wordlessly, soundlessly. He felt like he found Victor‘s gaze searching him sometimes, like Victor was trying to catch him in the act, waiting for him to become careless or obvious. Yuuri wouldn‘t let that happen.

He was fairly sure that if he did, he didn‘t have anything worse to fear from Victor than a pointed look and a teasing comment, or possibly to have to give back his loot and leave empty-handed that night, but nothing more than that. Still, he didn‘t. He was a professional. And he kept doing his job.

Yuuri knew that with every time he returned to Victor‘s side, there were more eyes on them, on him. Of course he wouldn‘t stay unnoticed, and while it was usually to be relied on that what happened at such high end parties stayed at them, it would only be a matter of time until word got out about Victor Nikiforov‘s mysterious new paramour (for that‘s what they were sure to call him). Already there were whispers and speculations among the social circles, and it would be only a matter of time until those whispers found their way to some press publication or another. He would do well to move on, and soon, before his ill-advised lingering ended his career in this game once and for all or, worse, landed him behind bars.

But still these events were the only way for Yuuri to interact with Victor, and for Victor with Yuuri. They hadn‘t exchanged any contact info, Yuuri still hadn‘t even given Victor his real name (and he wouldn‘t, he kept reminding himself— _he wouldn‘t_ ). So the only way they could keep seeing each other (and it became harder and harder for Yuuri to deny that he wanted to keep seeing Victor), was to meet at galas and dinners and balls and banquets.

It became more and more difficult to pull off, however—with the recent string of pieces of jewellery going missing, security had tightened at these events. Yuuri was now restricting his activities to stealing from Victor only, but already identity checks were becoming more thorough, invitations harder to forge, name dropping less likely to work. Usually, Yuuri wouldn’t care—usually Yuuri would have moved on to a new hunting ground weeks ago. But now he had to resort to other means, had to sneak in through back entrances or windows—on one memorable occasion even in servants’ livery—and more than once he’d had to make a rather hasty departure upon his illegitimate presence being discovered.

Really, it was getting too close for comfort for him, but Victor’s jewellery kept getting more elaborate and precious, as if to reward him, and Victor himself was so beautifully receptive to his bits and pieces of information; soaked them up so greedily like a sponge wrung dry. Every time Yuuri promised himself it would be the last time, and every time he remembered how Victor practically bloomed under his guidance, remembered how Victor would extrapolate and infer from his hints, always drawing the right conclusions, how Victor would conduct his own research, expand his knowledge on what Yuuri had told him and would sometimes even share observations he’d made or information he’d found back with Yuuri. Most importantly, however, Yuuri remembered how he would find, in recent weeks, during his own forays into the secrets and goings-on of the Nikiforov family, more and more bits and pieces of evidence of Victor acting against all those things that Yuuri had told him.

He’d find—a lot of the time with Phichit’s help—charitable donations made to organisations helping to alleviate the dire circumstances in Belarus; he’d find sudden investments in Nikiforov-owned companies and factories that would pay for a much-needed improvements of the safety standards or working conditions of the workers there. He’d find that, quietly and without much fanfare, investments in firms that held bigoted views were withdrawn. He’d remember all of these things whenever he was tempted to run, and he’d tell himself _just one last time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I hope you liked the artwork I created for this chapter. It must be the most elaborate piece I've ever done.  
> I recommend looking at it in full resolution for the full effect, which you can do by [opening the image in a new tab](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/1ee01358-1e65-4aec-9159-bee10a5dd290/ddn6iku-9aab93d4-dd54-4847-afa1-3942315ea211.png?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7InBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzFlZTAxMzU4LTFlNjUtNGFlYy05MTU5LWJlZTEwYTVkZDI5MFwvZGRuNmlrdS05YWFiOTNkNC1kZDU0LTQ4NDctYWZhMS0zOTQyMzE1ZWEyMTEucG5nIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmZpbGUuZG93bmxvYWQiXX0.ftujC-tLJb49tGbygsJczqkgfAsIME8xKAKQiv48Z6s).  
> Or take a look at it [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/nihidea_art/status/1211008094047809538), in a version without the masks, which I personally think looks a lot better.
> 
> Look out for the final part, including some sweet and spicy smut, in a couple of days!  
> Also leave me a comment to water my crops and feed my starving children 💜💜💜


	3. Chapter 3

**VII.**

That was how he’d found himself here.

Here, at this banquet, in a crowd of people and yet unable to blend in, gazes itching on his skin—and not the kind of gazes he sometimes tries to attract either, no—the other kind, suspicious, and hushed words whispered behind hands. 

_Just one last time_ , he’d told himself again, and this time he meant it, had to mean it, because he was treading on thin ice, was pushing the limits of what he could allow himself, had been pushing them for weeks, if he was being honest with himself. After tonight, something needed to change.

But tonight he was here, _just one last time_ , to see Victor.

And Victor he saw—his gaze was drawn towards him as soon as he entered the hall, through a side entrance after paying off the guard there with a hefty bribe and a little flirtation. He kept toward the walls of the hall at first, the music, just a little too loud to be comfortable, and dancing, the servants hurrying to and fro carrying trays of food and drink helping to conceal his appearance at least for a little while.

So did Victor himself, intentionally or not, surrounded by a crowd as he was, drawing the gazes of everyone else, close to him or otherwise, and Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat when he saw why. Victor’s long, flowing silver mane was shorn, cut close to the nape of his neck, only a fringe of it remaining long enough to fall across his forehead and sweep over his left eye.

Yuuri stood off to the side for a long while, staring at him, trying to get used to what he was seeing—Victor looked so different, the close shave around his neck making him look older and much more severe somehow, even the playful sweep of his fringe doing nothing to alleviate the impression, rather adding to the sharpness instead. He didn’t look any less beautiful for it, but nevertheless it took Yuuri a few minutes to mourn all his fantasies of running his fingers through those silky strands of hair, or else of wrapping them tight around his hand and _pulling_ —…

Yuuri bit his tongue—it wouldn’t do to get distracted now. Not today. Today there would be no dallying, no drawing out the moment until he got to talk to Victor, to touch him again in that delicious self-denial bordering on torture. There would be no playfully teasing Victor with his presence, weaving in and out of his field of vision a few times only to disappear back into the crowd until he could see Victor turning to look for him everywhere he went. There would be no careful scoping out Victor’s accessories from a distance, deciding what to steal and how to best go about it. Today, time was of the essence, because he knew that as soon as his presence here was known, a timer would begin counting down to the moment that someone would approach him in order to throw him out, or try to detain him, and he didn’t know how long that timer was. 

As soon as he noticed a lull in the crowd around Victor, he pushed himself off the wall where he’d been lingering, and walked across the hall toward him. 

The whispers around him picked up almost immediately, but he didn’t bother trying to hide, didn’t bother sneaking around—he walked with his head held high, his posture and the surety of his steps demanding everyone’s attention. There was no chance of fading into the background tonight, so he might as well lean into it, display his Eros persona for everyone to see, _just one last time_.

The crowd got denser the closer he got to Victor, but they parted around him like magnets pushed apart until there was a clear path between him and Victor.

Victor turned, catching sight of him, and his eyes widened in surprise that was almost immediately replaced by that radiant, delighted smile that Yuuri had found himself chasing whenever he was around Victor. In turn it now chased away all the lingering apprehension Yuuri had about coming here tonight—there was no way it had been the wrong choice when this was the smile that greeted him here.

Distracted as he’d been so far by Victor’s hair and his smile, as Yuuri approached he couldn’t help but take note of Victor’s jewellery—not only because of professional instinct, but also because Victor’s jewellery tonight wanted to be noticed. It was essentially screaming for his attention, between Victor’s unusually subdued outfit of a loose-fitted white blouse and an open blazer in charcoal pinstripes paired with a matching pair of pants flowing around his long legs, and the glaring absence of his hair providing no distraction, all eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to the elaborate diamond necklace nestled snugly around Victor’s throat. The way it sparkled and glimmered under the lights of the chandeliers was almost blinding, but Yuuri had no trouble recognising the distinctive shape of it immediately, the large pink diamond that was the centrepiece of the complex pattern of gemstones. It was the Nikiforov Heart. 

* * *

Victor couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face the moment he saw Yorei walking towards him, parting the crowds effortlessly with his almost palpable presence, his steps poised and graceful and so full of confidence as they approached their target that it left Victor’s throat dry in the awareness that he _was_ that target. He could see the intense focus on that face, that determination that made him shiver, could see his eyes flicker down to—ah. The Nikiforov Heart, clasped tight around his throat. Once Victor had figured out what it was that Yorei was after, he’d made use of the entire array of expensive jewellery at his disposal in order to draw him out—increasingly rare and expensive pieces to make sure that Yorei would keep coming back for more. And come back he did.

How much Victor wished that Yorei’s hunger, the intense want in his eyes, was meant for him, rather than for the gems he would wear but—he was ashamed to admit, but it was increasingly harder to deny—he would take any and all attention that Yorei would give him, even if it was directed only at his accessories. He had been sure that the Nikiforov Heart, the largest and most precious stone in his possession, an heirloom passed down through generations which to lose would make him notorious, a disgrace almost in his family’s eyes, would not fail to catch his Ghost’s attention. He was proven right, with a flood of warmth to his stomach as Yorei made his way toward him, and Victor felt, in a way, vindicated.

He would give it all, if he could keep Yorei’s eyes, his hands, his attention on him for a little longer.

It meant nothing to him, after all, not the money nor the prestige attached to the Nikiforov name, not any longer. Already the meaningless peacockery and vapid chitchat of the high society had been tedious to him, conversations repetitive and of no relevance and he’d wondered if that was to be all his life was. But the information that Yorei had given him about his family’s plots and machinations, of his own free will, had made him loathe the pomp and circumstance, all the wealth his family had amassed upon the spilt blood and hard work of others. After a few weeks and a good amount of his own research into his family’s history he would have been only too happy to leave all of that behind him, build a new life of his own, without that cursed family name and title attached to him—if it weren’t for the fact that society was the only place where he could find Yorei. Hell, the very diamond now nestled in the hollow of his throat was loathe to him, burning on his skin, a blood diamond purchased with the suffering of innocent people. Once, when he was a child, it had been his favourite daydream to imagine himself walking into a fancy ballroom, the prettiest person there, all eyes on him the minute he entered with the Nikiforov Heart around his neck. Now, he wouldn’t have gone near it, except for the prospect to give it up into Yorei’s deft fingers.

It had been a surprise how their relationship had developed into such a subtle give and take over the weeks and months. Victor would have been willing and happy to keep giving to Yorei if it had meant keeping Yorei’s attention on him. He had so much, and it meant so little to him, even then. But that Yorei had started giving back to him in these little bits and pieces of information, whether it was intended as a payment of sorts or not… it was a surprise. And Victor had always loved surprises.

He’d never thought that Yorei was stealing out of greed, for himself—he didn’t seem the type. At first Victor had assumed he was doing it for the thrill, for the excitement of it, had thought him maybe a nobleman or idle socialite trying to combat the boredom with these little adventures of his. It hadn’t occurred to Victor, at first, that Yorei didn’t belong in these circles of society at all. Not only with his usually impeccable dress but also with his natural grace and flawless manners that he only ever seemed to break out of by intention, never by accident. Victor thought him a gentleman as a matter of course.

But then, he’d let things slip here and there, when he was feeding Victor his information. Whether it was intentional or not, Victor couldn’t tell, but Victor held fast to each of these bits of information. They were never anything concrete of course, no name or heritage or place of residence, nothing of the sort. But it was a casual remark here or a particular inflection there, a subtle outrage or quiet fury when they were discussing one transgression or another of the Nikiforov family that made Victor realise just what Yorei was doing with the money he lifted from the pockets (or the necks, or wrists) of Victor and the likes of him. 

It only made him more intriguing to Victor, made the way he effortlessly inserted himself into high society more impressive, his dry wit more profound. Victor found himself wanting more and more and more of him, and never quite getting enough.

And now Victor could see Yorei’s eyes trailing his necklace and the Nikiforov Heart at its centre, and he could read well enough the thoughts going through Yorei’s mind: how much money he’d be able to procure for it, given the right buyer, one that he could sell to in good conscience, and how many people he could help with the money gained from it. 

Nevertheless, Victor couldn’t quite help but begrudge the diamond Yorei’s attention, and was glad when his dark eyes flicked back up and met Victor’s with that now so achingly familiar smirk on his lips. 

He grasped Victor’s outstretched hand and his skin was warm against Victor’s, he noticed—he wasn’t wearing any gloves tonight. The unusual contact sent a tingling sensation up Victor’s spine—while there was no shortage of physical touch between them, pressed close in a dance or leaning in conspiratorially when they were conversing, Yorei’s habit of wearing gloves constantly had limited their actual skin-on-skin contact to a few short, precious moments. He added another one to them when he now bowed low over Victor’s hand, and let his lips actually brush over the back of it, just for a moment, rather than just hovering over it. Victor gave a full body shiver, and hoped that the resulting flinch of his hand in Yorei’s was not interpreted as a rejection. 

“Yorei”, Victor said, a little breathless, intending to add something more, but all he could think of was either inane, or else too honest for the game of hints and subtleties they had been playing. 

Yorei himself, however, appeared equally at a loss for words, merely stepping closer to Victor and pulling him flush against his body, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Dance with me, Victor”, he said finally, already moving them to the music, his voice a quiet murmur. 

Victor gave a reverent nod.

“Always.”

Yorei led him over the dance floor wordlessly, like he was lost in thought, his eyes fixed on Victor’s face, never straying away for a second. It was like he was trying to memorise every last detail of it, and it made Victor feel a chill at the back of his neck. A few times he opened his own mouth to say something, anything, to break the silence between them, but no words came.

Eventually, halfway through their first dance, Yorei slid his hand up from where it was resting on Victor’s back, up over his shoulder, his neck, until his warm, delicate fingers were just resting against the edge of the freshly cut hair at the nape of his neck.

“You cut your hair”, Yorei murmured, running the tips of his fingers gently along the shaved edge. 

Victor inclined his head, half in assent, half to grant Yorei better access. 

“Why?”

Victor gave a thoughtful hum. “I suppose I just felt like it was time for a change.”

“Time for a change, huh?”, Yorei said under his breath, that contemplative expression still sitting in between his eyebrows, “I suppose it is.”

Victor let his own fingers, which had been resting gently on Yorei’s shoulder, run under the lapel of his jacket. “Is something on your mind, Yorei?”

Yorei gave him a smile, but it wasn’t his usual teasing smirk, nor the softer, more genuine one that Victor had been able to coax out of him occasionally. It was something different, something smaller that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s nothing”, he said.

Victor hummed and waited for a few long moments, turning complacently in Yorei’s arms as he led him, waiting for him to say anything more. When he didn’t, Victor leaned forward, close to Yorei’s ear.

“Don’t you have anything to tell me tonight? Anything to teach me?”

Yuuri huffed a quiet laugh and gave the back of his neck a little squeeze, something between affectionate and chastising, as he answered: “No, Victor. Not tonight.”

“Oh?”, Victor beamed a little more brightly than strictly necessary, gazing down at Yorei. “Am I to assume, then, that you have come tonight only out of your soul’s deepest and most desperate desire to see me again?”

Yorei gave him a flat look, but there was a quirk of fond exasperation in the corners of his lips. Victor decided to play it up a little more, gasping dramatically. “No? Then are you—dare I even mention it—have you perhaps come here tonight in order to steal my heart?”

Yorei grimaced, his beautiful features twisting into something unpleasant for just a second. Victor’s heart fluttered for a moment, worried that he’d gone too far, that he’d misjudged the situation after all, but then Yorei groaned. “So cheesy…”

Victor beamed again, giddiness flooding through his body at the genuine amusement hiding under Yorei’s complaint, at the way his posture relaxed just marginally under Victor’s hold.

“Ah, that’s right”, he said, “of course you wouldn’t enjoy my cheesy jokes. I forgot you’re a man of taste. Only the most exclusive and expensive of everything for you, isn’t that right?”

Yorei went still for a moment, the smile sliding off his face, but his expression was not the same distantly thoughtful one from before. Instead, it was an intent gaze, fixed on Victor’s face, searching his eyes for something that he seemed to find there, because after a few seconds his lips curled into that delicious smirk that Victor knew so well, something dark and promising in the tilt of it.

“That’s right”, he murmured, voice low and purring, “That’s why I’m here, after all. For the most beautiful thing in the room tonight.”

His hand slid around Victor’s neck, from the back of it toward his throat, the featherlight touch of his fingertips making a shiver ripple up Victor’s spine. He tilted his chin up slightly, expecting Yorei to run his fingers along the necklace sitting snug around his throat, but instead they wandered further, higher, until his hand gently cradled Victor’s face, palm curling around his cheek, the tips of his fingers just brushing the short hair behind Victor’s ear. He ran his thumb along Victor’s cheekbone in a delicate touch, and the gaze in his eyes was so intense that it made the words stick in Victor’s throat.

“Ah… now who is being cheesy?”, he finally managed to force out, but the slight waver in his voice and the rush of heat he could feel rising into his cheeks belied his teasing.

“Hmm”, Yorei tilted his head slightly, regarding Victor from under hooded eyelids. “There’s a thin line between being cheesy and being suave, and where that line falls is entirely defined by the recipient’s reaction.” Yorei’s tongue darted out to lick his lips as he traced his eyes along Victor’s face, “And that pretty blush of yours tells me I was being rather suave.”

Victor huffed a little laugh. “What can I say?”, he asked, shaking his head, “I am entirely unable to resist your charms, Yorei.”

Yorei’s hand fell from his face, and for a moment Victor wondered once more if he’d said something wrong, but then it wrapped around his waist once more and pulled him closer still, Yorei leaning in toward him, until his lips were almost brushing Victor’s jaw.

“It’s Yuuri”, he whispered.

Victor blinked, once, twice, trying to make sense of the words. 

“Yo—what?”, he stammered. 

“Yuuri”, Yorei repeated, and took a deep breath. “My name is Yuuri.”

For a moment Victor faltered in his steps, trying to process the information. Had he been pronouncing the name Yorei had given him wrong all this time? No—he realised, feeling Yorei’s—Yuuri’s—rapid heartbeat pounding against his chest where they were pressed close together—no… he was being given another secret after all.

Victor tried to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, trying to keep up with their steps around the dance floor despite his distraction. “Yuuri”, he whispered, and Yuuri inclined his head in a slow nod.

Victor moved his hand up slightly on Yuuri’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What has—I mean…”, he cleared his throat slightly, “Why now?” The question was soft, hesitant in Victor’s own ears, like he was afraid of the answer, and maybe he was.

Yuuri looked up at him, and there was that distant thoughtfulness on Yuuri’s face, that expression that Victor hadn’t been quite able to place and that he now—with a hitch in his breath—recognised as something else, something like regret.

“We have to end this.”

Victor sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively holding Yuuri a little closer. “Why?” He knew it was a silly question, he didn’t know what he had expected to happen—for Yuuri to steal him away like some kind of Robin Hood? Of course this couldn’t go on forever between them—and now that Yuuri had the Nikiforov Heart so close to his grasp, he supposed, there was no reason for him to return anymore.

Victor could see Yuuri’s eyes darting around the crowd around them, tracking any movements, a little more frantic than Victor had ever seen him, when he was usually the picture of subtlety. 

“There’s not a lot of time, Victor”, Yuuri said, but there was no urgency to his voice, just resignation, and a small, sad smile on his face that Victor had never seen on him, never ever wanted to see on him. “My coming here tonight was probably a mistake, but I needed to see you… just one last time.”

Again Yuuri’s eyes flicked around them, and this time Victor followed their movement, and saw the figures making their way toward them through the crowd, their steps and gazes intent on them and it was clear they were not coming over for a casual chat. Yuuri twirled them across the dance floor away from the approaching figures, until they were lost in a cluster of groups and couples surrounding them. Only then did he break away from Victor’s hold, seeking his gaze once more.

“I’m sorry to take my leave like this”, he murmured, then leaned forward to press his lips to the juncture of Victor’s jaw with a tenderness that made him ache. “Goodbye, Victor.”

Then he turned to walk away.

“Wait!” The word burst out of Victor before he could think about it—he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, he just knew he couldn’t bear to let Yuuri leave like this.

Yuuri turned back towards him and there was no impatience in his expression, no irritation, like he would wait for Victor as long as it took.

“Weren’t you… aren’t you going to take the diamond?”, Victor finally asked, a little breathless—because that’s what Yuuri had come for, that’s what he had taken the risk of returning for… wasn’t it?

“Why would I do that? I believe...”, and here Yuuri hesitated, his eyes searching Victor’s face, something vulnerable flickering in them that Victor had never seen through all his confidence and teasing: uncertainty. Fear. “I believe”, he whispered, “I already have the only Nikiforov heart that matters to me. Don’t I?”

With a thundering heartbeat in his ears, Victor reached out reflexively, closing his hand around Yuuri’s wrist.

“Then take me with you!”

Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise at his outburst, but a frown quickly appeared between his eyebrows.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Victor. You have no idea what that entails. What kind of decision you would be making.” His voice was getting hurried now, no doubt aware of the pursuers closing in on them, but Victor kept his eyes fixed on Yuuri only.

“I don’t care! It’s my decision to make and I…”, he hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I made it a long time ago. I don’t want this life. I want you.” He held Yuuri’s gaze, searching it for a decision. “Unless… unless you won’t have me?”

And there was the decision, in the set of his jaw and the glowing determination flickering in his eyes that made Victor shiver.

“Come, then”, he said, his voice low and firm, pulling Victor along by his hand toward the edge of the room, “keep your head down and do as I say.”

Victor stumbled along behind him, ducking his head down. Yuuri led them through the crowd in a zig-zag pattern, abruptly changing direction, meandering slowly closer to the edge of the hall. A few times he’d approach a door, only to turn back sharply when he discovered the people of intimidating size in dark suits guarding it. Finally they found an unguarded door and Yuuri led him through it. Behind it there was a short hallway leading to a staircase going downwards, a couple more doors leading off from it. Yuuri pulled him along the hallway, opening the doors with his other hand as he went. Behind one there was a supply closet, windowless. He left it behind. Next was a bathroom and, across from it, something like an office with another door at the other side of it. 

Yuuri sent him into the office with a sharp nod of his head, before turning around and fiddling with the lock on the bathroom door for a moment, until Victor heard the bolt sliding shut, the little marker sliding into place to indicate it was occupied. Then Yuuri backed into the office with him, carefully closing the door behind him before turning and opening the door on the other side. There was another hallway there, with more doors, and at the end of the hallway, someone was just turning the corner towards them. Yuuri abruptly but quietly closed the door again, but a yell on the other side told them they had not gone unnoticed. 

“Shit”, Yuuri whispered and grabbed for Victor’s hand again, “Hurry, but don’t run”, he instructed him quietly, “keep your steps quiet.”

Then he pulled him out of the office and down the hallway toward the staircase. Keeping their knees bent and their footfalls soft they hurried down the stairs. Victor was suddenly grateful he’d decided on comfortable leather oxfords for tonight, rather than high heels. The staircase wound down for three flights and ended in a large set of metal double doors, but Yuuri pulled him toward the side, underneath the last flight of stairs where there was a smaller door, something looking like a maintenance door, set into the wall. He pulled on it, but it was locked. Cursing softly, he fumbled something out of his pocket and hunched over the lock, and within a minute it was open. Listening with bated breath as Yuuri was working, Victor could hear yells and the rattling of the bathroom door faintly three flights above them. 

He followed Yuuri into the maintenance corridor and pulled the door shut behind them at Yuuri’s indication. It was dark in the corridor, only faint light drifting in ahead of them where the corridor widened into something like a boiler room, with barred windows set high into the walls. Faint yellowish light was filtering in between the bars.

“Are you sure this was a good idea, Yo—Yuuri?”, Victor asked in a whisper, sounding loud and echoing in the barren room, “this seems like a dead end.”

Yuuri gave him a glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t worry”, he said, “I’m not so reckless as to go in unprepared. I know the blueprints.”

Victor chewed on his lips, remembering what he knew about situations like these from books and stories. “We’re not going to have to climb through the sewers, are we?”

Yuuri chuckled, low and deep in his throat, despite the tension in his shoulders. He paused and turned towards Victor, seeking his gaze. “Do you trust me, Victor?”

“Yes”, Victor replied without a moment’s hesitation.

One corner of Yuuri’s lips pulled up in a wry smile. “You shouldn’t.” He raised his hand and softly brushed the hair out of Victor’s face. “But I’m still glad that you do. Come on.”

Yuuri led him deeper into the maze of maintenance corridors and rooms—or at least it felt like a maze to him, even though they did not actually take that many turns. Victor’s sense of direction was terrible, and he briefly caught himself in the thought that if he had actually misjudged Yuuri completely and he’d taken him down here to kill him and take his jewels after all, then Victor’s fate was sealed. But he pushed the thought out of his mind—he knew, in his gut, that Yuuri was not going to hurt him. They hurried past boilers and water reservoirs, other contraptions, humming low or giving high pitched hisses, that Victor wouldn’t be able to identify any further. 

Eventually they reached another staircase, much narrower and steeper, the walls crowding in close on either side. They climbed up, Victor just behind Yuuri, holding firmly to his hand. Yuuri stopped at the top of the stairs for a few breaths, pressing his ear against the door. He nodded, before turning toward Victor. 

“Give me the necklace”, he said, holding out his hand in demand, the other reaching for something in side his jacket.

Yuuri must have seen something of the alarm that flittered suddenly, unbidden, through Victor’s mind on his face, because he rolled his eyes.

“It’s too noticeable”, he said, “you’re already going to draw too much attention, but with that rock around your neck there’s no way we’re getting away.” He held up his hand, now holding a dark velvet pouch as if to illustrate his point. 

“O-of course”, Victor stuttered out, feeling silly all of a sudden, before reaching up to unfasten the diamond necklace around his neck. When he handed it over to Yuuri, he tucked it into the pouch and the pouch back into the inside pocket of his jacket. Having gotten used to the weight of the diamond on his throat throughout the night, Victor suddenly felt curiously light. 

Yuuri took a deep breath and turned back toward the door, listening again. Then he opened it. Behind it was the foyer of what looked like a fancy housing complex, with marble floors and polished pillars, a gated lift leading to the upper floors. The door they’d just come though, another narrow maintenance door, was almost unnoticeable when it was closed. 

Yuuri snuck a look around the corner toward the entrance, then leaned close to Victor to whisper: “Just act like you belong”, before threading Victor’s hand through his arm and walking leisurely toward the front doors of the building, like they were just a couple out to take a stroll. Well, almost—though under the circumstances Victor could forgive that Yuuri did not hold the door open for him but slipped through himself first, not looking around himself ostentatiously, but with sharp eyes which flicked up and down the street. 

Victor recognised the street—it was one of the ones around the venue where the banquet had taken place, though they were now maybe one or two buildings away from it. Yuuri led them down the street leading further away from the venue, but they had hardly made it half a dozen steps when there was a shout behind them.

“Oi! You there!”

Victor flinched instinctively, even as Yuuri murmured to him out of the corner of his mouth, “Keep walking.”

Victor did his best to comply, not looking back and setting one foot in front of the other even as hurried footsteps approached behind them. 

“Wait right there, you!”, the same voice shouted again, much closer now, and Victor was already preparing himself to be grabbed when Yuuri repeated, more firmly this time, though still hushed, “Keep walking”, before releasing Victor from his grasp and whirling around to face their pursuer. Victor really tried to, but his steps faltered without the reassuring presence of Yuuri beside him, and the scuffle of noise behind him dug itself like claws into his back, wrenching him around. He couldn’t bear not to look. 

His steps halted as he looked over his shoulders, only a few yards away from where Yuuri was twirling away from the hands grasping for him, trying to hold on to him. He ducked underneath a fist swung at him and with a swift kick tried to sweep their pursuer’s legs from under him, but the man only stumbled rather than falling, righting himself again too quickly and lunging for Yuuri again.

Victor stood paralysed, watching as Yuuri, light as always on his feet, danced out of the way of the attacker once more and circled him, obviously trying to get behind him. He reached his hand back in the process and Victor saw a flash of metal as he pulled a long, thin blade out from under his waistcoat. Victor’s breath halted in his throat, but already the knife was twirling in Yuuri’s hand as he lifted it, bringing the hilt down sharp against the back of the other man’s head. Even as he was crumpling to the ground there was the sound of more steps and yells from behind Yuuri, and he looked over his shoulder with a muttered curse before fixing Victor again. 

“Victor, I said _go_ ”, he snapped before turning to face the next pursuer, but Victor was still rooted to the spot, unable to leave the sight of Yuuri behind. 

It was thrilling and horrifying both at once—Yuuri’s movements as he fought were just as mesmerising as on the dance floor, all fluidity and effortless poise, but at the same time it made Victor realise that this was real, this was dangerous. It made him realise the choice he’d made, leaving with Yuuri.

He didn‘t regret it—he was still sure this was the right choice for him, but at the same time… this was a reminder that this was not, in fact a fairytale. The son of an influential noble family being stolen away—that‘s how they were sure to see it—by a common thief would not be without consequences. Namely consequences for Yuuri.

Victor‘s eyes trailed every one of Yuuri‘s movements, quick and powerful, the lines of his muscles well defined under the close cut fabric of his suit. He avoided the second pursuer‘s attempts at grappling him, while trying to get in a good punch to knock him out. 

But this guy was faster than the last, more adept at avoiding Yuuri‘s strikes und Victor realised if they didn‘t get away soon, the commotion would attract even more of them. Already the sparse passers-by were giving them alarmed looks, whispering among themselves in agitation. 

Yuuri‘s torso twisted down as his leg came up to swiftly kick the other man in the stomach, and he doubled over. This time Yuuri made use of the pursuer‘s imbalance to really kick his legs out from under him, and he toppled to his knees, but in the last moment the guy‘s hand shot out and grabbed Yuuri around the calf, pulling him down with him, his knife skittering away across the sidewalk.

“You bastard”, the guy grit out through clenched teeth, and while Yuuri was still busy breaking his fall so his head would not connect with the flagstones, Victor could see the guy’s hand slip inside his jacket.

He wanted to shout for Yuuri, but his name stuck in his throat; he didn’t want to betray the confidence that Yuuri had put in him. He was moving even before he saw the flash of metal from the pistol the man pulled out. Thankfully he didn‘t see Victor coming, having his back turned half toward him. It only took a second for Victor to lean down and collect Yuuri‘s knife from the ground. 

From there it was only another step to grab the man‘s hair from behind, pulling him upright as much as he could, before holding the blade to his throat. It was so easy—he didn‘t even think about it. He‘d never used a knife for anything other than chopping or eating food in his life, but he didn‘t need to know anything other than which way the pointy end went.

If he was being honest with himself, he had no idea if he could follow through on his threat, but in the end there was no need: as soon as the man noticed the blade sitting at his throat, he went very, very still. 

Victor felt a thrill running down his spine.

“Drop it”, he said, and the man dropped the weapon that he‘d had barely time to train on Yuuri.

It didn‘t take Yuuri long to snap out of his wide-eyed surprise, and he was on his feet again in an instant, holding on to their pursuer. After indicating with a nod to Victor to lower the knife, Yuuri knocked him out with a well placed strike to the back of his neck and the man slumped to the ground on the sidewalk.

People around them were now openly staring, there were yells and shouts around them as well, so they didn‘t lose any more time. With a hard look on his face that Victor couldn‘t quite read, Yuuri took the knife from him and made it disappear somewhere underneath his clothes once more, before grabbing on to Victor‘s wrist again and breaking out into a run, pulling him along.

They ran in the opposite direction of the banquet, occasionally taking turns left or right, drawing curious looks after them. Yuuri rarely hesitated, seemed to know exactly where he was going, only slowed down sometimes to watch out for more pursuers, but none were forthcoming. 

Victor, not exactly in the habit of running long distances, was soon panting and gasping for breath, but Yuuri made no indication of slowing down, barely even seemed winded. 

After they‘d turned a few more corners and there was a constant stabbing pain in Victor‘s side, he finally opened his mouth for a few panted words.

“Yuuri—wait… I… need a moment.”

As much as he wasn’t keen to admit it to Yuuri, he didn‘t have much of a choice—he felt like his knees would give out under him any moment now. 

Yuuri turned around to him, his eyebrows raised in surprise like he hadn’t actually considered that someone might be out of breath after this kind of physical exercise.

“Ah—of course. Hang on.”

Yuuri looked around for a moment, then dragged him just a little further toward a narrow arcade passing through a building complex, dark and abandoned for the night, and pulled him inside just enough that the shadows hid their presence from any passers-by. 

Victor leaned against the cool marble walls, grateful for the reprieve, gulping in deep lungfuls of air in an attempt to catch his breath. Despite the cool night, he felt sweaty in his loose blouse and the blazer that suddenly felt too thick. Moisture was making the silky fabric stick to his back uncomfortably.

Yuuri lingered next to him, a little closer to the arcade‘s entrance, keeping a watchful eye on the street. No one passed them by, or if they did, they didn’t pay them any mind.

After a while, Victor‘s breath came a little easier, and he felt like he could straighten up a little without a sharp pain stabbing into his side. 

Yuuri seemed to notice his breathing evening out as well, because he turned around to Victor.

“Better?”, he asked, and in the faint backlight trickling in from the gaslit streets, Victor couldn‘t make out his expression shrouded in darkness. He nodded, still a little shaky on his knees, a fact that was not remedied by the deep growl Yuuri‘s voice dipped down into immediately after.

“Good.”

Yuuri was so close to him suddenly, too close, looming before him, his hands fisted into the lapels of Victor‘s blazer, not violently, not painfully, but making very clear that he could keep Victor right there if he wanted to. He was so close that Victor could feel his breath, but still he could barely see anything more than a flash of light reflected in his eyes.

“I told you to do as I say”, Yuuri said, and his voice wasn‘t loud, not even particularly sharp. It was more of a dangerous purr, curling itself against Victor‘s skin, dipping into every crevice of his face, leaving him shivering. “And I told you to keep walking.”

Victor opened his mouth to justify himself, but no words would come out.

He could hear more than see the smirk curling onto Yuuri’s face. 

“Still so very disobedient, aren‘t you, Victor? And here I thought I‘d taught you well...”

Yuuri‘s voice dipped down into a facsimile of disappointment that made Victor‘s stomach give a painful squeeze, though he knew it was feigned.

“He had a pistol!”, he protested, finding his voice again.

“Which I would have taken care of. And you wouldn‘t even have known if you had kept walking, like I told you to.”

Yuuri sighed, and his voice took on a bit of a more sober tone. 

“You may have no idea what you got yourself into tonight, Victor”, he said, “But if you, and I for that matter, want to make it out of this in one piece, you are going to have to listen to me.”

Victor lifted his chin defiantly, setting his jaw.

“I‘m not going to just leave you to fend for yourself, Yuuri. I‘ve not gone with you to be a burden to you or to keep letting you rescue me. I can carry my own weight, even if I may not be a trained fighter. I am through being selfish. I am not going to leave you to face danger on your—”, the rest of his sentence got cut off abruptly by soft, hot lips connecting with his own.

The kiss, insistent as it was, lasted only for a moment before Yuuri pulled back, but Victor didn‘t let him; he wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him back in, pressing his lips against Yuuri‘s again. Victor‘s world narrowed down to just the feeling of Yuuri‘s lips, his taste; Yuuri‘s hands still fisted into the lapels of his blazer. He felt Yuuri‘s body press closer to his and met his heat eagerly with his own, and for a few moments their attention was lost to the world, drowned in the taste of their lips on each other. 

Victor hadn‘t realised how insistently the heat had been simmering low in his belly, stoked and disregarded and stoked again time and time again in the last months, never being allowed to burst into flames but burning deeper, deeper with every time he saw Yuuri, every time he was held in his arms. All those embers, buried under the cinders of time and preoccupations, of Yuuri‘s teachings and their hasty escape, they were now set alight all at once, the flames licking at Victor‘s skin from the inside, tingling.

It was like he could feel every brush of cloth on cloth, every lingering touch of their last meetings, every heated glance and teasing smirk, every time their bodies had aligned perfectly in dance, their hips pressed a little closer together than was maybe entirely decent. He could feel all of them now, at once, crashing over him in a wave of sensation that threatened to drown him, leaving him panting and breathless. 

“Yuuri.” He wasn‘t thinking about it—wasn’t thinking at all, all thoughts wiped clean from his mind in the wake of Yuuri‘s touch—when he gasped out between a greedy kiss and a greedier breath for air, “I want you. Now.”

“Now?” There was a teasing quality in Yuuri‘s tone, in the rise of his eyebrows, but its bite was lessened by the need reflected in Yuuri‘s own blown pupils. “Right here? So impatient, Victor.”

Victor looked past Yuuri and only then remembered that they were still in that dark arcade, hidden in shadows but far from a private space.

“I‘m not saying I‘m averse”, Yuuri continued with a smirk, “and I know the thrill of an escape like this can be quite the aphrodisiac but… are you sure this is what you want?”

Despite the excitement trickling down his spine at the thought, Victor shook his head slightly, biting down on his lips. “Then”, he said, “Take me somewhere. And _take me_.”

**VIII.**

Victor wasn‘t quite sure where he had been expecting Yuuri to take him when they left the banquet together. Some top secret headquarters in a hidden facility underground maybe, or possibly a run-down warehouse with a dingy, furnished back room. He still knew next to nothing about how—or for that matter, why—Yuuri did what he did. Whether he was operating alone or as part of a larger organisation; how he planned and executed all these elaborate plans of his. It seemed like crucial information to have before running away with him, but for some reason none of these things were important. Yuuri was Yuuri, his Ghost. He‘d been getting to know him and constantly dreaming about him for all these months, and none of the rest of it mattered.

It was only when Yuuri brought him back into a rather classy hotel room that Victor realised this was not what he had been expecting. And it wasn‘t just for his benefit, either: Yuuri‘s possessions were left in the room, not in disarray, but rather neatly kept and organised. Clearly the room had been lived in for a few days.

There were roughly folded casual clothes sitting in a pile on a corner of the bed, and a coat draped across the back of a chair. A few papers of notes and schematics on the small table in the corner of the room. A faint smell of Yuuri hung in the air, his own natural scent mixed with the ghost of his cologne from when he had got ready some hours ago.

No—this was not some anonymous hotel room Yuuri had brought him to to impress him or to have a convenient place to bed him—this was Yuuri letting him into his space.

That thought was somehow more arousing than any teasing, any seduction that Yuuri could offer, and when Yuuri closed and locked the door behind them before he turned around to face Victor, Victor could feel his breath catching in his throat.

Yuuri looked at him, his head tilted to the side, and something in his gaze, something that had been burning and determined, became softer.

“Victor”, he said, his voice quieter than Victor had ever heard it, surrounded as they were by silence rather than countless voices and droning music, and he gestured toward the door, the lock, “this is only meant as a precaution against people trying to come inside. It is _not_ to keep you from going out. This door is not locked to you, do you understand? Not ever. You are not my prisoner.”

Victor felt a crooked smile trickling onto his lips, his heart warming with Yuuri’s words.

“I understand, Yuuri”, he said, “I am not worried. It was my choice to come with you. It is my choice to be here.”

Yuuri nodded, something like relief on his features. “Good. I also want you to know that—despite how much I enjoyed what happened back there in the arcade—there is no obligation for anything more to happen between us. Tonight, or ever. That is not a condition of your being here, or of me making sure you’re safe.”

Victor’s smile faltered a little at that. “What if I want something more to happen between us?”

Yuuri let out a breath and his expression softened further, molding into something warmer than Victor had ever seen on his face, making his usually sharp features appear young and pliable. He crossed the few steps distance between them, Victor holding his breath as he came closer and his hand gently cupped Victor’s cheek.

“Then I will gladly take whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Victor swallowed, unable to look away from the hypnotising intensity of Yuuri’s eyes. His own hand came up to run through Yuuri’s hair where it was starting to fall away from its carefully brushed back style after their adventurous getaway. “Take me, then”, he whispered, his voice a prayer between them, “all of me.”

There was no more hesitation in Yuuri then, as he surged forward, capturing Victor’s lips with his own, pushing him gently but firmly backwards until Victor’s back hit the wall. His hands came up to cradle Victor’s face, his kiss insistent but soft. Victor couldn’t help the low, needy noise that spilled from his own mouth into Yuuri’s, and his hands held on to Yuuri’s waist, trying desperately to drag him closer.

The heat of Yuuri’s mouth, the gentleness of his touch, the sharp scent of his cologne, heady up close, surrounded Victor, enveloping him completely, drowning him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t do anything but give in to the pull of every last one of his nerve-endings that wanted nothing more than to feel Yuuri closer.

He gave himself over to the feeling of Yuuri’s fingers caressing gently down his throat, over his collarbone to his chest, dancing over the silk of his blouse for a few moments before gliding under the lapels of his blazer to slide it gently off his shoulders. A crumpled heap on the floor at Victor’s feet, forgotten. Still their kiss was unbroken as Yuuri’s hands flicked around the buttons of Victor’s blouse, deftly opening them one by one, and still Victor could do nothing but hold on to the grounding solidness of Yuuri’s waist, the subtly patterned fabric smooth under his fingertips, the living, breathing muscles shifting underneath.

Before long the blouse was lying open and Yuuri’s fingers skimming down Victor’s bare chest, his stomach. His touch was gentle but his hands were not soft; not at all, Victor now realised, the hands of a gentleman. They weren’t hard and calloused like a worker’s hands, but they weren’t pliant and manicured either—something firm and unforgiving about them that made Victor shiver as Yuuri just barely touched the sensitive skin of his abdomen. The shiver ran over him, sudden and full-bodied like a rain shower on a humid day, breaking apart their kiss with a sharp hiss of a breath. 

Yuuri’s hands didn’t still, but he looked up at Victor, a question in his eyes.

“Do you want me to stop?” 

His voice was a low rumble in his throat, spoken gently between them like a fragile thing. 

“No”, breathed Victor, “please.” He didn’t know what he was pleading for, until he did—his fingers moving upward on the embroidered fabric of Yuuri’s waistcoat until they sat at the top of his chest, just underneath his shoulders. “Let me touch you, too.”

Yuuri inclined his head with a nod and a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes, and Victor moved his hands upwards the last few inches, lifting the fabric of Yuuri’s tails with it until they slipped off his shoulders, down his arms. They hit the floor with a dull thunk, the pouch with the Nikiforov Heart still nestled within, forgotten. The waistcoat followed in its wake soon, revealing the harness cinched around Yuuri’s waist holding the knife, concealed in the curve of his spine. The leather straps now stark and sharp against the cream-coloured fabric of Yuuri’s shirt, they sent a spark of heat up Victor’s arms as he ran his fingertips along the edges of them. He tried to catch his breath against the sudden need gripping him firmly around the throat, and he stilled, long enough that Yuuri chuckled, an amused tilt to his lips as he wet them with his tongue. 

“Do you want me to leave it on?”

Victor bit down on his lips, trying to hold back the noises crowding onto his tongue, but two whispered words escaped him nonetheless. “ _Fuck_ , yes.”

Yuuri smirked, but the tremor of his fingers betrayed his own want as he pushed the blouse off of Victor’s shoulders and leaned in close, letting his breath ghost over Victor’s skin, making a shiver of gooseflesh run over him, caught between the cool air of the room and the heat of Yuuri’s breath. Involuntary, Victor’s hands reached up to grip at Yuuri’s shoulders, firm and solid underneath his fingers. 

It was a shame, in a way, that Victor would not now get to see Yuuri’s bare torso, the way his muscles were sure to move and flex under his skin—the light shirt did not do much to conceal them, and Victor could feel under his grip that Yuuri was all hard, lean muscle. A body trained for physical excellence, for agility and strength, so unlike Victor himself, who was naturally lean, but whose only workout apart from dancing at events like the one tonight consisted of the long walks he took with his dog. But seeing the straps wrapping around Yuuri’s waist, concealing that deadly secret behind his back, was well worth it, and Victor hoped—knew—he would have plenty of opportunity still to see Yuuri shirtless.

Then all thoughts were chased out of Victor’s head by a flash of sensation when Yuuri’s lips first touched his throat, mouthing scorching kisses onto his skin that Victor could feel burning marks into him even when Yuuri’s lips barely touched him. Tilting his head back against the wall, a gasp tore itself from his throat, his hands clutching Yuuri’s shoulders harder. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation, silent and motionless except to move one of his hands just close enough to Yuuri’s neck to be able to run his fingertips through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck underneath his shirt collar.

Yuuri’s lips and tongue were wet and hot on his skin, his teeth joining in every once in a while in a way that made Victor involuntarily buck his hips against Yuuri, seeking closeness, more touch, every layer of fabric still between them too much, too much. Eventually, one of Yuuri’s hands was gliding down his bare torso to come to rest against his hipbone and Victor was already shivering in anticipation, when Yuuri pushed his pelvis back, pressing him firmly against the wall and depriving him of any friction. Victor whined, and he could feel the curve of a smile on Yuuri’s lips against his skin. 

“Patience, my beauty”, Yuuri whispered into the hollow of his collarbone, and Victor bit his lips, trying in vain to comply.

He buried his hand deeper in Yuuri’s hair and grabbed a good fistful of it, pulling him up to look at Victor.

“No”, Victor pressed out in what would have been a growl if he wasn’t so breathless with want, “I’m done being patient. Take me to bed.”

Yuuri’s gaze focused on him flooded with a spike of heat, he narrowed his eyes even as his pupils dilated, and then Yuuri’s hands were on Victor’s thighs and he was being lifted, wrapping his legs around Yuuri’s hips on instinct. He could feel the deliciously hard line of Yuuri’s cock against his crotch with every step as he was carried through the room towards the bed.

* * *

There was that delicious friction all around Victor, all his awareness narrowed down to those points of contact; the drag of his spine against the smooth hotel sheets, the freshly shaved hair at the back of his head catching, catching, on the pillow, a rasping sound in his ears, and then—and then the push and pull of those fingers inside him, flesh on flesh, curling. And above it all, around it all, encompassing all the points of sensation into one starburst of searing heat, Yuuri’s mouth on his cock.

Victor could feel every drag and slide of his lips and tongue like a brand, every ridge and vein he touched an echo reverberating through his body. He’d gasped out Yuuri’s name too many times to count, reverent and pleading, worshipful and in surprise, until no words remained in his throat, leaving only moans and hitched breaths in their wake, spilling from him like the sweat on his brow.

But there were those fingers inside him, pressing, pressing, and Victor could feel the tension building, breathless wanting, ready to spill over, and he made his mouth form words—“Yuuri—wait”—and Yuuri stilled, drawing away from his cock to look up at him.

It took Victor a few moments to drag himself away from the edge, draw himself back into his own mind enough to form something like a coherent sentence. 

“I don’t want to come yet. I want—ah, please, fuck me.”

The uncertainty on Yuuri’s face dissolved like cream in hot coffee, leaving something dark and sweet and intense behind that Victor wanted to drown in.

A ghost of a smirk trickled onto Yuuri’s lips as he wet them with his tongue. 

“It would be my greatest pleasure, sweetheart.”

The delicious pressure of his fingers disappeared from inside Victor, and Victor drew in a breath, shaking and shivering with that intense anticipation that made the room spin around him, as he watched Yuuri’s fingers moving to finally, finally unbutton his trousers. 

“Let me”, Victor whispered, focusing on every muscle and tendon of his own hands as he unclenched them from the sheets, red with exertion now, and trembling with want. Yuuri moved closer between his legs, obliging, running his own hands up Victor’s thighs as he followed with dark eyes Victor’s fingers traveling along the waistband of his dress pants.

Victor could feel the hot, hard press of Yuuri’s erection against the fabric, twitching under the fumbling touch of his fingers. The smooth silver buttons were treacherous and Victor could feel his patience drain away with every second but finally, finally, the buttons lay open and Victor didn’t waste another second hooking his fingers into trousers and underwear at once and pulling them done with one hasty motion. He didn’t want to—couldn’t wait. 

He shivered deliciously, both in the cool air of the room, the heat from Yuuri’s body now removed from his own exposed skin, and under the heavy, heady image of Yuuri kneeling over him, his head tilted downward to meet Victor’s gaze with eyes full of promise, but every other line of his body poised and upright, exquisitely erect in a way that made Victor ache.

He wanted nothing more than to feel Yuuri’s weight and heat on top of him, surrounding him, inside of him, and he didn’t wait to give action to his want. Grabbing on to Yuuri’s hips with both hands, Victor yanked him closer, pulling him down between his legs until he could feel the pressure of Yuuri’s cock against his own, making him dizzy.

Yuuri chuckled, low, mouthing his laughter against the skin of Victor’s chest, his ribs, his nipples, _oh_ , so distracting that Victor didn’t even notice him reach for the oil once more, but then his cock was slick against Victor’s own and his fingers teased once more against Victor’s entrance, rubbing slow, torturous circles.

Before Victor could urge him to go faster, to _stop teasing and just_ —his lips were sealed with Yuuri’s, a deep, breathless kiss, both of them gasping into it, and Victor lost himself in the sensation of lips, tongue, teeth for an endless moment, his mind cleared from any haste and need and hurry to just feel, until Yuuri pulled back, huffing heavy breaths against Victor’s bitten lips.

“Are you ready?”

Victor ran both his hands up Yuuri’s back, fingers gliding along the leather sheath of the knife still strapped to the curve of it, over his neck and coming to rest to both sides of his face, cradling his head firmly, fingers tangling at the back of it.

“ _Yes_.”

The single syllable sounded out between them, a spell woven into that sliver of air that separated them, and its effect was immediate. 

Victor felt himself pulled forward as Yuuri hooked his hands under Victor’s knees and hoisted his legs over his shoulders, and Yuuri’s cock slipped down, _down_ , past Victor’s balls, glancing over his perineum until the head was pressed against his entrance, and Victor couldn’t breathe suddenly, all his want snapping back into him like a rubber band, leaving him stinging, red and desperate. 

He lifted his hips, pushed back against Yuuri who did not hesitate to follow his movement and then he was pressing inside, one smooth, slow thrust—a revelation of white hot sensation inside Victor.

Victor couldn’t stop the long, drawn-out whine from escaping his throat, throwing his head back into the pillow, breaths rapid even as Yuuri stilled, waiting for him to adjust, and then— _oh god_ —then he moved.

It was slow, so slow at first, Yuuri pulling back gently and pressing back in, ever so languid, that delicious tilt to his hips. The hot drag of Yuuri‘s cock inside him sent electric frissons, tingling, up Victor’s spine, arresting his breath in his throat and his heart in his chest. As much as Victor wanted to see Yuuri, see every push of his hips and that expression on his face, focused and hazy all at once, he couldn’t help but tilt his head back further, close his eyes, giving over to that velvet sensation, skin on skin. He had no words left in his mind, no thoughts, only breathy moans dragged out of him with every thrust. 

Yuuri’s hands were traveling along his thighs down to his buttocks, caressing gently, squeezing soft flesh, then they were dipping along his hips, his sides, making him suck in a sharp breath of air. Victor barely noticed when they slid down his arms, circling his wrists, but suddenly his hands were pressed firmly into the mattress to both sides of his head, their fingers intertwined, knuckles squeezing, thumbs brushing. Victor blinked his eyes open, meeting Yuuri’s as he hovered over him, heavy-lidded and warm, their intensity burning into Victor’s skin. They shared a smile between them, slow and soft, as their heats merged, palms pressed together and Yuuri buried deep inside of Victor. Then Yuuri leaned forward ever so slightly more, putting more of his weight on Victor’s hands as he pulled his hips back until he almost left Victor empty, before snapping back in sharply a moment later.

The thrust ran like a punch through Victor’s body, making starbursts bloom before his eyes and pulling a sharp cry from his lips. Gasping, Victor moved his hips to meet the rapid thrusts of Yuuri’s cock, driving him deeper, faster, the heat between them building, cresting. Only distantly did he hear the panting moans, high and needy, spilling from his own mouth, the low, breathy groans and curses dropping from Yuuri’s as colours sprang across his vision, bringt inks blending and merging into clouds of pastel. The hardness of Yuuri’s cock inside him, the friction, the pressure, deep, digging, made him lose time, lose his mind; he could only move, move as one with Yuuri, with the rhythm of their mingling breaths, the harsh, sweaty slaps of skin on skin. 

He opened his eyes, but his mind was too blank with pleasure to question it when Yuuri slowed, stilled eventually, releasing his hands and cupping his face, for a moment just, as if to drag Victor back to him, just a little, before pulling Victor’s legs down from his shoulders to rest on either side of Yuuri’s hips. He didn’t withdraw from inside Victor, though, just leaned forward to snake his arms around Victor’s back and pull him upright, until he was seated in Yuuri’s lap, legs wrapped around him. His own weight drove him down deeper on Yuuri’s cock, making him shiver, and Yuuri, one arm still wrapped around his back, used the other to brush sweaty strands of hair from Victor’s face, locking eyes with him.

“I want to feel you closer”, he whispered, touching his thumb to Victor’s lower lip, sore and swollen from kissing and Victor’s own teeth chewing them in his pleasure, “is this okay?”

Victor nodded, swallowed against his dry throat, nodded again. “Yes”, he whispered back, “yes.”

Yuuri nodded as well, then withdrew both his hands, leaving Victor to balance himself on Yuuri’s lap for a moment, while Yuuri’s fingers, as trembling and erratic as Victor himself felt, worked on releasing the harness around his waist and the buttons of his shirt. Victor buried his hands in Yuuri’s hair, grounding himself in the thick, dark strands. He could feel every tiny motion Yuuri made inside him, every quick aborted thrust, like a shot of lightning up his spine. When Yuuri finally shrugged off his shirt and wrapped himself around him again, running his hands down Victor’s back to come to rest with a firm grip on his ass, it was all skin on skin contact, all heat and sweat, no more barriers between them. Only Victor and Yuuri, drowning deep.

When Yuuri moved inside him once more, Victor moved against him, his weight resting in part on Yuuri’s groin, in part in the firm grip of his hands, and the change of angle made Victor’s breath stutter, made him bury his face in the juncture of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder, gasping in his scent eagerly. His hands still buried in Yuuri’s hair, he gripped harder, his hips moving against Yuuri’s cock in fluid motion, and it wasn’t long until they’d built up a fast, needy rhythm again, stumbling, hurrying toward their release.

Victor gasped as much in Yuuri’s ear, yanking Yuuri’s head back a little by his hair, making him moan, a delicious sound that trickled into Victor’s chest and down, down, towards his cock.

Yuuri nodded, mouthing erratically at Victor’s jaw as he whispered his “me too”, and released the white-knuckled grip of one hand on Victor’s ass to wrap around his cock instead. Letting his head fall back once more, eyes closed, Victor let himself be lost in the sensation of Yuuri’s cock driving deep inside him, throbbing, throbbing, _so hard_ , and Yuuri’s hand around his cock, a quick, erratic stroke. 

His cry, when he spilled into Yuuri’s hand, was loud in his own ears, broken fragments of gasps and sobs scattering around them. Yuuri did not stop moving in him, around him; he slowed his movements to a more languid pace for a short while only, while Victor was shivering and twitching around him, gasping for breath, blinking away the colours bursting in his vision.

Victor barely felt he had found his way back to this plane of existence again before Yuuri started driving into him again in earnest, holding Victor’s hips firm as he thrust his cock up into him, leaning forward into Victor’s chest, soft hair sticking to Victor’s skin with sweat. Victor felt trembly and overwhelmed with every thrust, his nails scratching over Yuuri’s scalp in encouragement, his other hand clasped firm on his shoulder to give him purchase as Yuuri drove into him hard and fast, more erratic with every snap of his hips until he, too, spilled a long, low moan against Victor’s sternum and his come inside of him. 

Their breaths were loud and harsh in the sudden stillness, panting against the other’s skin until they found their way back to themselves, found their grasp on words and actions again.

Yuuri looked up at Victor, chest still rising and falling rapidly, a wide, open smile on his lips, his eyes crinkling with warmth, something more relaxed than Victor had ever seen on his face before. 

“ _Shit_ ”, he whispered emphatically, his softening cock slipping out of Victor as Yuuri wrapped him up in his arms, “fuck the rich, indeed.” He chuckled, low and amused, but before Victor could ask what he meant by it, Yuuri was mouthing kisses up his throat to his lips, pulling Victor’s mouth onto his in a deep, lazy kiss.

When they broke apart, they leaned their foreheads together for long, silent minutes, just feeling the other’s warmth and breathing in their scent.

“Thank you”, Yuuri finally murmured, his hands gentle on both sides of Victor’s neck, “Thank you for giving this to me.”

Victor hummed, a smile tugging on his own lips. “You have nothing to thank me for, Yuuri”, he said, “there’s nothing I have that I wouldn’t willingly part with, for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaaand that's it!
> 
> I hope I did okay with my first smut, and I hope you enjoyed the conclusion to this story!   
> It's been great having you here, if you've made it this far, why not drop me a line in the comments? 💜💜💜
> 
> Looking forward to seeing you again in the next story! ❤

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 💜💜💜
> 
> Feel free to yell at me in the comments, or find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nihidea_art/), [tumblr](http://theliteraryluggage.tumblr.com/) and [instagram](http://instagram.com/nihidea/).


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